Mobile Suit Gundam: The Road to Alexandria
by Trioknight
Summary: War seems like far away for most, but for Samuel Holliday, a member of the Zeon Foreign Legion stationed in Africa, war is as real and close as it can get. As the One Year War drew on into the Universal Century 0079, Holliday would find himself catapulted once more into the fighting in the desert plains of North Africa.
1. Chapter 1

**Mobile Suit Gundam: The Road to Alexandria**

 **Chapter 1**

 **Outside of Ghardaia, Algeria  
October 27th, UC 0079**

The Zeon Ghardaia Base was not a large facility; nor was it very permanent. Any hard structure buildings had been there when they had arrived some six months before, attached to the massive oil field that spread out around it. For the most part, it was a small city of tents set up around a hastily paved airstrip, with a few pre-fabricated buildings that had been set up for the Company's equipment.

Heat rose in shimmering waves from the airfield, making the multitudes of oilrigs and pumps waver before the eyes. Very few people were out in the open, preferring to stay in the shade to try and combat the oppressive heat.

One of these was Captain Samuel Holliday. An average-looking man with light brown hair and deeply tanned skin, Holliday lounged in a canvas chair situated under a tarp that extended from his tent. The sound of Gustav Holst's Jupiter drifted from within his tent, where it played on a battered old CD player set up on his camp desk. On the ground next to him was a large canteen full of water, made tepid by the heat of the day.

By Holliday's estimate, it was between 30 and 35 degrees centigrade, probably closer to 35. He'd grown accustomed to it in the five months he had been stationed in North Africa, but it did not mean that he enjoyed it. It was a brutal climate Holliday had seen more men invalided by exhaustion and heat stroke than from combat. Sometimes he wondered how the human race had ever survived on this planet.

It looked liked yet another typical day for the 5th Terrestrial Mobile Division's 3rd Battalion, Company C. In other words, another day of sitting around in the heat guarding the oil field that was being pumped for the Zeon war machine. As fuel, oil was unnecessary, but the petroleum was needed for the creation of plastics and polymers used in military equipment. Further to the south, past the Grand Erg Occidental, were massive iron mines. That was where D Company was stationed. Holliday didn't envy D Company that assignment, deep in the Sahara. It was sent north to the transfer point in Ghardaia, where the 23rd Engineering Corps funneled it further north to Algiers, where Heavy Lift Vehicles delivered the materiel into orbit to be refined and consumed by the Zeon factories at Side 3.

Holliday raised his canteen to his lips and took a drink, grimacing at the warm temperature of the water and the dust that seemed to permeate the very air. He forced the water down, absently shoeing away the flies that gathered. As he set the container down, he noticed a jeep roaring up from the airstrip, trailing a cloud of dust behind it. Against his better judgment, the young officer stood up and walked to the edge of the shade, watching the dun-colored vehicle as it came to a halt a few meters away.

It stopped, throwing a cloud of dust forward. It was whirled away by the hot breeze as a man jumped out and rushed up to Holliday. He was taller than the Captain, and somewhat heavyset. A dust-caked beard covered the lower part of his face.

"Something the matter, Sergeant?" Holliday asked the man as he pushed up the goggles he wore over his eyes. It left two rather comical looking white circles around his eyes in a face otherwise brown from dust.

"Nothing's wrong, sir," the Sergeant, a man by the name of Scott Pappas, told him. "It's just that a transport plane's been sited. Though you might like to go out and meet it."

"They radio in?"

"Apart from requesting landing clearance, not really."

"Think they're finally sending a replacement for Major Giannetta?" Holliday asked, snagging a battered, desert-yellow cap and goggles from the back of his chair. Snugging it over his head, he walked back toward Pappas and the jeep, where a third man waited in the driver's seat.

"You got me, sir," Pappas shrugged. "All they said was that they were coming."

"All right, we'll go out and meet them." Holliday swung up into the back of the jeep, coming close to cracking his head on the machine gun mounted there. "Good morning, Corporal Cusik," he said to the man in the driver's seat. Robert Cusik a short, dark man with a somewhat sour temper merely grunted in acknowledgement. Pappas walked around the front of the jeep and climbed back into the shotgun seat, adjusting his goggles over his eyes.

Pulling his own goggles down over his eyes, Holliday gripped the jeep's roll bar with his other hand. Cusik shifted into gear and the jeep jerked into motion. The wheels spun, kicking up sand and gravel as the driver spun the wheel around and turned it back toward the airstrip. The ride would have been nerve-wracking to anyone who had never driven with Cusik before, but Holliday and Pappas just rode in practiced indifference. The jeep jolted across the bumpy terrain, a cloud of dust and sand surrounding the vehicle.

Cusik brought it to a stop next to a makeshift observation tower set up next to the runway. It was the closest thing to an actual control tower the base had, with a minimum staff equipped with binoculars and a radio to relay their observations to the ground controller, who was stationed in a tent a dozen meters from the field. That tent also served as the base's main communications center; not that there was much that they ever needed to communicate to the rest of the 5th Division.

Holliday hopped out of the jeep once it had stopped and looked up into the sky. Sure enough, there was the shape of a transport plane above the horizon, coming in on an approach to the field. Holliday assumed that it was coming from Algiers base to the north that was the transfer point for personnel and equipment coming in from any one of three major bases. In this case, Odessa base in Europa, the headquarters of the 1st Division and routing point for most new personnel and equipment. Though it was possible that it had originated in either Alexandria Base to the east or Kilimanjaro base, the headquarters for the 5th Division.

This was an unscheduled flight, so Holliday had no idea where it had originated. It wasn't time for the supply run, so he suspected that it might be bringing the new company commander. Their previous CO, Major Giannetta, had been killed a month earlier when a knee joint in his Zaku had failed. The mobile suit had toppled, and had struck a large boulder buried under the sand. The Zaku's chest plate had caved in, crushing Giannetta between his seat and the control panel. Since then, Holliday had found himself in charge of not only his mobile suit platoons, but the tank units and the engineering corps that called the base home as well.

Pushing his goggles back up over the brim of his cap, Holliday reached back into the jeep and fished a pair of binoculars out of an equipment locker. Raising them to his eyes, he picked out the transport. It was a Gaw, the standard Zeon transport aircraft, a giant, fat-bottomed plane with massive engines to keep it in the air. It had been painted in the brown and yellow shades that all 5th Division aircraft stationed in Northern Africa were, with the underbelly left an indeterminate blue-gray. Its markings indicated that it was based out of Alexandria.

"Have they identified themselves yet?" Holliday shouted to the men in the tower.

The one closest to him shrugged and shouted back, "They've only given their origin and flight number, Captain. The ground controller's given them permission to land."

"Hell of a way to keep us in suspense," Holliday muttered as he turned back toward Pappas and Cusik. "Sergeant Pappas, get a squad together to meet the plane when it lands. Cusik, I want you to find me a jeep with a cover on it. If we are getting a new officer, we shouldn't subject him to a dusty ride. Yet," he added with a grin. "And while you're down in the motor pool, see if you can't get a truck or something to take whatever gear this guy's bringing with him up to the commander's tent. Never hurts to be prepared."

The two NCOs saluted lazily and went off to their respective tasks, Cusik roaring away with his jeep in a cloud of dust. Holliday watched them go, removing his hat and wiping at the sweat on his brow before turning his attention back toward the incoming Gaw. The plane grew larger by the second as it maneuvered into its approach for the landing strip.

A few minutes later, as the transport was nearing the runway, Pappas had returned with a small squad of soldiers dressed in their desert-yellow fatigues, assault rifles slung over their shoulders. Holliday motioned for them to follow him, and they walked toward the airstrip, stopping at a safe distance to watch the Gaw land.

The roar of the huge transport's engines was deafening, and the squeal of rubber lanced through eardrums as the massive batteries of wheels in the plane's undercarriage touched the tarmac. Large flaps and airbrakes deployed as the Gaw continued to speed down the runway; the whoosh of air hitting them carried across the camp, and the transport slowed immediately to a near stop.

Engines spooling down from a deafening roar to a high-pitched whine, the Gaw trundled to a halt. Ground crews ran out and chocked the massive wheels and began to attach umbilical cables to replenish the craft's fuel supply.

When the engines had shut down completely, the forward cargo bay door of the Gaw slowly slid open, revealing the internal mobile suit bay. Standing in it, secured for landing, was a forest green MS-07 Gouf. The transport's crew were already busily unsecuring the mobile suit, presumably to unload it.

"Phew, that's a nice-looking machine," Pappas commented. "Think it's our new commander's?"

"Well, I'm sure they didn't send it all the way here for me," Holliday replied dryly. "That green's going to have to go, though. Enemy would have no problem picking something like that out of the background."

"Ahh, just admire the MS for what it is," Pappas said jovially. "You can nitpick about colors later."

Holliday just shook his head, but said nothing as he led the troops down to the tarmac to meet the Gaw's passengers when they debarked. Already the base's aircrew was setting up a stairway to the main passenger hatch of the plane. The soldiers formed two lines, creating a corridor that led away from the aircraft. They came to attention, rifles held over their shoulders. Holliday and Pappas stood further back, awaiting the arrival of whomever the Gaw had brought to the base.

The hatch opened, revealing a tall, somewhat middle-aged man in a Zeon Major's uniform. He was impeccably dressed, right down to the shine on his black boots and the inclusion of the rank mantle affixed to his olive green uniform tunic. He had a slightly sour expression on his face, but he was immaculately clean-shaven, and his dark blond hair was trimmed neatly.

Pappas leaned over to Holliday and whispered, "That pretty-boy image isn't going to last long in this climate." The Captain had to stifle a laugh. Then, something just to the Major's left caught his eye. When he got a better look at what it was, Holliday's jaw dropped. "Is that what I think it is?" he whispered hoarsely.

His own expression mirroring Holliday's, Pappas replied, "I think it is. God, I haven't seen one in months."

Stepping out of the plane, smiling kindly at the Major as he helped her through the hatch, was a woman. She had dusky skin and had long, black hair that fell from under the wide-brimmed white sun hat she was wearing, matched to the white sundress that she wore. For both Holliday and Pappas, this was the first woman they had seen in months. No female soldiers or officers had been posted to this part of North Africa, and the men of the 5th Division were under strict orders not to have any contact with the native women, at least not outside of cities like Algiers. The last man who had had anything to do with one of the women of the nomadic tribes near the base had met with a rather ignoble end. And the natives had vanished before any retaliation could be carried out.

But this Both Holliday and Pappas realized they were staring and let their military professionalism take over once more. Setting his face in a businesslike expression, Holliday led his sergeant up to the foot of the stairs and saluted the Major as he descended.

"Captain Samuel Holliday of the 3rd Battalion's C Company, Major," he introduced himself, holding the salute until the Major crisply returned it. "Apologies for not having a more formal reception for you, sir. We weren't informed of your arrival."

"That was by my order, Captain. I wish to inspect the troops as-is," the Captain replied, clipped tones betraying the accent of a Side 3 native. "I am Major Moore. Franklin Moore. I am the new Commander for Company C. Are you the only senior officer, Captain?"

"No sir, Lieutenant King is in charge of the tank platoons, and Lieutenant Hill is commander of the 23rd Engineering Corps, though technically, they're a separate unit from C Company," Holliday informed him. "I'm commander of the company's mobile suit platoon, the Asfar Skikkiyn."

"Excuse me?" Moore regarded Holliday with a heavy-lidded, questioning gaze that made the Captain downright nervous for some reason.

"Asfar Skikkiyn, it's the local language for 'Yellow Knife,' the platoon's nickname, Major," Holliday explained.

"I see." Moore's response was cold and flat; Holliday did not like the tone of voice it came in. Before he could say anything else, though, the Major continued. "This is Miss Kamaras, my personal secretary. You will see to it that the men treat her with the same respect accorded myself."

"Of course, sir." Holliday indicated the covered jeep that Cusik had finally driven up to the airfield. "If you would like, Major, Corporal Cusik can convey you to the Commander's tent. Accommodations here aren't as civilized as we would like them to be, but we make due. I can also arrange for Miss Kamaras to be provided with separate accommodations and facilities near your own tent, Major."

"See to it. In the meantime, however, I will inspect the troops. Tell this Corporal Cusik that I want to see every section of the base," Moore ordered.

"At once, Major." Pappas, still standing next to Holliday, nodded and dashed off to inform Cusik of the change in plans.

"Upon my return, I want all senior officers and the other members of the mobile suit platoons to meet in the command center. Dress uniforms, Captain."

"Dress uniform?" Holliday fought the urge to snort. None of the men had worn a dress uniform in months, not in this kid of heat. He wasn't even quite certain where his was anymore. Still, diplomacy won out and he merely agreed with the Major.

Holliday saluted as the Major and his secretary walked off toward the jeep, watching her as she walked away. God, how can those legs just keep going on like that? Holliday wondered. Moore ignored Pappas as he entered the jeep, the Sergeant standing stock still at attention. Once they had gone, Pappas walked back over to where his immediate superior was standing.

"That's one lucky SOB," Pappas remarked. "Those legs go on for miles and miles."

Holliday agreed, but kept his opinion to himself. I don't like this, he did say. This Major seems like he's got a bug up his ass about formality out here. Seems like a real redneck RA. "Did you catch the part about dress uniforms? I haven't worn my dress uniform in longer than I can remember?" Holliday lowered his anti-glare goggles as he watched the jeep drive out across the plateau toward the tank platoon. "I've got a bad feeling about this."

 **Notes:**

I'm a great believer in inspiration. The basic idea for this came after watching an old WWII movie set in North Africa. The 5th Division troops depicted herein are based, in part, on the Deustches Afrika Korps commanded by Erwin Rommel.

Ghardaia: located in north-central Algeria, at the southern foot of the Atlas and to the north of the Sahara's Grand Erg Occidental. It serves as a transfer point for iron mined to the south and the oil pumped from the base, which itself is at least 30km outside the city itself.

Zeon Jeep: this is the jeep that shows up in 08th MS Team, episode 5, I think, where Migel and Eledore go AWOL. For visualization's sake, most equipment does look like its 08th MS Team depictions, like the Gaw.

Asfar Skikkiyn Platoon: As Holliday states, it's Arabic for Yellow Knife. If I've butchered it, would anyone who does speak Arabic please let me know. I combined the words after doing a basic net search on the language. At any rate, they pilot MS-06D Desert Zakus that more resemble the Gihren's Greed versions than the old MSV illustration (or if anyone has the old Gundam Weapons book on the MG Zaku, they look like that version, complete with very big heat hawks though C Company's machines have the radiator packs rather than the thruster packs depicted in the Zaku book)


	2. Chapter 2

**Mobile Suit Gundam: The Road to Alexandria**

 **Chapter 2  
October 27th, UC 0079**

Samuel Holliday stood outside of the command center tent, uncomfortable in his uniform. The officers of C Company did not have the traditional Zeon working dress uniform that Major Moore was wearing. Instead, they had field dress, which consisted of a high-necked tunic that bore their rank insignia, over which went a five-button green field blouse that bore a general Zeon officer's insignia. Holliday opted to keep his web belt on, but the 1st Lieutenants, King and Hill, had worn black leather belts that matched the boots all the men were now wearing.

The temperature had gone up since the Major's arrival, and the sun was now hanging high above them. Holliday wanted nothing more than to rip the field blouse off his back and go find his comfortable tropical shirt. He would have liked to at least been wearing his hat to keep the sun off his face. It was no time of day for a man to be standing out in the sun without the proper protection.

Moore had brought a small number of NCOs with him, personal aides who apparently were not quite as personal as Miss Kamaras was. Holliday held no illusions about her, as attractive as she was. Call her a personal secretary or what you will, it was a polite way of referring to the woman who was most likely the Major's mistress. Holliday knew that several officers in the Earth Attack Force had them, trading the perks that went with their position for companionship. On war-ravaged Earth, it was a means to a better life for some women.

One of the NCOs emerged from the command tent. Snapping to attention before the assembled officers and mobile suit pilots, the Sergeant saluted and announced, Major Moore will see you now.

Holliday returned the salute and walked past the Sergeant, who was trying his best not to look uncomfortable in his own work dress. Sweat was already beading along his brow, under the helmet he wore, and dark stains were beginning to spread on his uniform. These men were going to have a hell of a time adjusting to the climate, Holliday thought, and it seems Major Moore isn't making it easy for them.

It was still hot inside the spacious command tent, but there was at least a breeze blowing from a large, round fan mounted on a pole in the corner of the tent. On one wall, above a table laden with maps, was a large Zeon war ensign, the 5th Division's banner hung next to it. Near the map table was a Corporal sitting behind a large radio unit, keeping in coordination with the communications tent. Major Moore himself stood in the center near his desk, talking to another NCO who saluted him and left. Holliday wondered just how the man managed to look so impeccable after a ride through the desert.

"C Company senior staff reporting as ordered, sir," Holliday announced, coming to attention and saluting the Major. C Company was usually pretty informal, but the Major seemed to put a lot of stock in saluting.

"At ease, men." Moore walked up and down in front of the assembled men, looking them over. "In my tour of the base," he addressed them, "I have come to several conclusions. First of all, hydrocarbon production must be increased by a full 25% if we are to meet the demands that Side 3 has placed upon us. Lieutenant Hill, you and your men will see to it. This base will be known for its contribution to Zeon's materiel needs."

"Secondly, I have noticed a lack of formality and discipline in this Company that is unbecoming of Zeon soldiers. That will change. From this moment on, the men will start dressing in work dress uniforms. Side 3 natives or not, they will present the proper image of what a soldier of the Principality should be. Foot patrols are also to resume around both the camp and the fields, as well as tank and mobile suit patrols around the perimeter."

Pausing, Moore took a drink from the glass of water that sat on the corner of his desk. The condensation that had gathered on the outside of it nearly made him drop it, but he recovered it with a dark glare to head off any un-military snickering that the incident might cause. "Furthermore, this company has been complacent. Other units throughout the world are providing valiant contributions to the glory of Zeon; I intend to see that this one contributes its fair share of accomplishments. Captain Holliday."

"Sir!" Holliday snapped to attention thinking that if he didn't, Moore was going to ream him out for not being proper and respectful.

"You are to start practicing maneuvers with your platoons. When my personal mobile suit has been optimized for the climate, I will be taking command. I expect the unit to be prepared for our first operation by next week at the latest. That is all, gentlemen." Moore turned away, then thought of something, and turned back. "Senior officers are to meet in my tent at 2000 hours for dinner. Please inform the mess crew and have them arrange for it. That is all; dismissed."

The assembled men saluted and walked out of the tent into the stifling heat. Holliday frowned, but kept his thoughts to himself for the moment. He marched off toward his own tent, with Pappas and Cusik trailing after him. Pappas looked concerned; Cusik, well, Cusik's expression was the one he always wore.

Holliday waited until he was at his tent before he unleashed his outburst. "That pompous fool!" he snarled, kicking over his chair. Swinging around to face his two subordinates, Holliday said, "Does he realize what this climate is going to do to someone in a full work dress uniform? Especially if they're on a foot patrol. Does he have any concept of what it's like in a desert?" In actuality, Holliday was making excuses to complain. The work dress was more impractical than the tropical field uniform, but not necessarily worse for the climate. Still, the tropical uniforms were made out of lighter materials.

"I think this man Moore, he has never been in a real combat unit before," Cusik said in a low, disapproving tone. "Pretty uniform, fancy mobile suit. His hands are soft. He has never experienced combat."

"His plans for the unit made it seem like he's not very experienced," Pappas agreed. "Lieutenant, where exactly are we supposed to attack? This ain't exactly the Southeast Asian front."

"Closest Feddie base is off in Tataouine, that's 600 klicks to the east. But this isn't our MO, we're not the Pink Panthers. Our assignment is to sit here and guard this stupid oil field," Holliday muttered the last. It was a boring assignment, but at least it had been peaceful. Or, rather, had been up until now.

"Captain, you might want to curb your temper for a bit," Pappas told his superior, nodding in a direction behind the Captain. Holliday turned his head and saw the dark-haired form of Miss Kamaras watching them, a mirthful smile on her face. Then, she turned and disappeared into the tent that had been set up between Holliday's and the commander's tents.

Turning back to Pappas and Cusik, Holliday shook his head and told them, "Let me know if anything else is going to f*** up my day. I'll be in my tent until dinner, contemplating suicide."

The wonderful thing about the desert, Holliday thought, is that it gets cold at night. As the sun was dropping below the horizon, the temperature began to do the same. With winter approaching, it was also bound to get even colder at night in the weeks ahead.

Holliday wore his field blouse, closed at the collar. Over it he had on a greatcoat designed to fend off the chill of the desert night. The sun had sunk well below the horizon now, painting the western sky in an array of pastel reds and oranges, overlaid with a sheen of violet. Opposite, to the east, the sky had turned an inky black, studded with stars that mingled with the layer of dust that had been thrown into the Earth's atmosphere some ten months prior.

Straightening the peaked officer's cap he'd dug out of the bottom of his footlocker, Holliday made his way to the commanding officer's tent. It was of the same basic design and material as Holliday's own, but several times larger and with a private latrine and shower set up between it and Miss Kamaras's tent. This was a feature Holliday envied; must be nice not to have to share a latrine and shower facility with ten other junior officers.

Holliday was shown inside the tent by the NCO standing at the door. He found Lieutenant Hill already arrived and waiting to be seated. Moore's tent was spacious and largely undecorated; he still had crates and boxes piled up in one corner. The large camp table had been set up this was a holdover from Major Giannetta's tenure as company commander. Giannetta enjoyed having informal meals with his officers here; not like the formal affair that Moore seemed to have set up for tonight. The table, behind which a large Zeon war ensign had been hung, had been set as one might find it in a banquet hall, not in the middle of the North African theater.

Standing at the near end of the table was Miss Kamaras, wearing a red skirt and white blouse that looked a little to thin for the night air. Still, if she was uncomfortable, she took it in stride. Holliday removed his cap and sketched a little bow. "Good evening, Miss Kamaras," he said to her.

"Good evening, Captain Holliday," she replied in an accent he could not quite place. "And please, call me Maria. Franklin will be along shortly."

"Certainly," Holliday answered, though he wasn't quite sure why. At least he was certain that he was not the only person Miss Kamaras Maria had an effect on. As the only woman in the camp as the only woman some of the men had seen for months Holliday hoped the men were disciplined enough not to do anything stupid. He would hate to see Moore convene a firing squad to take care of anyone who had done anything to his mistress.

Holliday stood conversing with Lieutenant Hill, and Lieutenant King showed up a moment or so later. They talked quietly amongst themselves as Maria went about preparations for the meal. After a few minutes, Major Moore arrived, clad in a heavy leather greatcoat over his uniform, flanked by a Sergeant in a wool greatcoat.

"Ah, good evening gentlemen, my dear Maria," he said as the Sergeant helped him out of the coat. "Would anyone care for anything to drink? Otherwise, we can begin dinner." Holliday accepted a glass of scotch whiskey from the Major. It had been brought, he was assured, all the way from Side 3 itself. After Maria had been seated by Moore, the other officers took their places at the table.

It felt a little ridiculous to Holliday to be eating at a candle-lit table with real linen napkins and fine dinner ware that the Major had obviously brought with him. After all, Holliday knew what was coming, and Moore apparently did not. This much was proved when the first course was placed in front of them.

"What the hell is this?" Moore said in a thin voice, looking disapprovingly at his plate. It was filled mostly by beans and rice and a few pickled vegetables. A large chunk of black bread sat on the side of the plate, the most inviting part of the meal to Moore's eyes.

The other officers ignored this and attacked their meals with gusto. Holliday, in particular, had skipped lunch and was feeling ravenous. Pausing in between shoveling forkfuls of rice into his mouth, he looked up and noticed the Major's somewhat dismayed expression as he looked at the food on the plate. "Is something the matter, Major?" Holliday asked innocently.

Cocking an eyebrow, Moore replied, "The cuisine is not quite what I'd expected, Lieutenant. Tell me, is this standard?"

"Absolutely, Major, sir. You'll find precious little fresh food around here; rice and beans are among the few things that don't spoil. Anything else is going to be pickled, tinned, or otherwise preserved. Occasionally we've been able to get our hands on some fresh meat, but that's a rare occurrence. Do try the black bread, though. I'm told it's a very old Russian recipe. Quite good, though I think it would be better with butter than with the olive oil we're issued."

Maria, for her part, was soldiering on better than Moore was regarding the food. She had seen enough hunger to never turn down anything placed before her. As she ate, she saw that Moore was getting that expression again, the one he always wore when things were not going his way. Deciding to be diplomatic, she said, "Franklin, why don't you tell the Captain and the Lieutenants about yourself? I'm sure they would be interested in knowing more about their new commander." She passed a sly wink along to Holliday, who was now regarding her with an expression of frank admiration, recognizing that she was attempting to stem the Major's temper.

Moore puffed up at this. Adjusting the collar of his uniform, the Major cleared his throat. "Well, before the war and for the first few months, I was a staff officer to Her Excellency Kycillia. In early April, I was assigned to the First Terrestrial Mobile Division as commander of a forward observation unit on the Western Front in the Ukraine. We successfully defeated five different Federation-supplied resistance groups, and that is where I met my dear Maria. It was General Kelanie himself who recommended to General Bitter that I be assigned this command; he has high regard for my abilities. And I intend to demonstrate to General Bitter what I proved to General Kelanie in Odessa, that this can be an effective unit in the fight against the Federation."

"I see," Holliday said, trying to sound impressed. He wasn't, though. All he saw was the same sort of nepotism that had run rampant in the Mobile Assault Force during his tenure with it.

"Tell me, Captain Holliday, where are you from originally? I've noticed that most of the men aren't from Side 3," Moore commented, disdain coloring his voice just a bit.

"That is correct, sir. The majority of us are not from Side 3. In fact, you're the first officer I've met in the 5th Division who is. I can't speak for Lieutenants Hill and King, but I'm originally from Side 2. Until about a year ago, I was also a Federal Forces pilot." This seemed to catch Moore somewhat off guard. "That's why we're referred to as the Zeon Foreign Legion; we're men who've given up our countries to fight for the Zeon cause." Holliday paused to dab his mouth with his napkin, then said, "Major, if you would please excuse me, I'm suddenly not feeling up to par and would like to go lie down."

Moore, more than a little perplexed, nodded weakly in acknowledgement. Holliday stood up and collected his greatcoat, snapped off a salute and then left the tent. He headed right back to his own, where he tossed his greatcoat over a chair, stripped off his boots and field blouse and tossed them on the floor. He set a CD in his battered black player and lay back on his bed. _That bastard Moore is nothing but a pawn of favoritism politics and now we're stuck with him and his delusions of grandeur. Kelanie probably had him shipped off here so he wouldn't have to deal with him anymore._ Somehow, Holliday couldn't see the rather straight-laced Major being a favorite of the rather unconventional General.

Some time later Holliday was not exactly certain how much time had passed there came a soft knock on the wood board outside his tent. "Yes?" he answered impatiently. The outer flap was drawn aside to reveal Maria Kamaras, clad in Moore's leather greatcoat and carrying a bottle of wine.

"I wanted to see if you were all right," she said as she came in, not noticing Holliday's rather obvious amazement. "You left rather abruptly, and missed a rather good red that Franklin had brought with us from Odessa. I managed to bring another bottle of it in case you wanted to try some. Would you care for a drink with me?"

By this point, Holliday's brain had finally started working. "Um, okay." He got up and walked over to his camp table, pulling out one of the chairs for Maria to sit down on. "I do apologize for leaving early. Would be lying if I said it was because I felt sick, but-"

"But what?"

"You're probably going to hate me for saying this, but I don't like Major Moore. He reminds me of why I left the Federal Forces in the first place. He's a glory seeking functionary who's gotten to his position by riding on the coattails of others! Holliday paused, and took a breath. There, I've said it."

"Don't worry, I won't tell Franklin," Maria answered him as she uncorked the wine bottle and filled up the two glasses she had brought with her. "He does have a tendency to rub people the wrong way, that's why he's been banished to this post and he's none to happy about it."

"Tell me, why are you with him? You seem sensible enough, not like that pompous git at all."

Maria looked away for a moment, then slowly replied, "Things were tough for the first few months after the war. I was trapped in Odessa, my fiancé had been working there as an engineer. He was killed in the crossfire between the Federal Forces and the Zeons. With Franklin, I've never had to want for anything. When you are desperate, it's easy to trade pride for necessity."

"I'm sorry, I didn't know."

"You couldn't." She let out a short, bitter laugh. "Now that I've told you my story, what is yours, Captain? How does an ex-Federal Forces officer end up out in the middle of the desert fighting for Zeon?"

It was Holliday's turn to laugh bitterly. "It's not a very interesting story," he told her.

"Bound to be more interesting than anything else to do here."

"You have a point. It's partly because I'm an insolent bastard, partly because I got fed up with the system. I was a Federal Forces fighter pilot, had just been assigned to some know-nothing bastard of a commander who'd gotten his position because his brother-in-law or something was a Rear Admiral. I reamed him out over some stupid thing or another I can't even remember what it was now and he threatened to end my career."

Holliday drained the wine from his glass. "I'd become so fed up with the nepotism and corruption I saw strangling the Federal Forces, that I left. Just hopped in my fighter and surrendered to the first Zeon ship I found. At first, I was excited to be in a force that actually had a purpose, and a seemingly noble one at that. And then I saw the destruction at Loum. I was a Gattle space fighter pilot by then, and I just wasn't prepared for the sheer slaughter that happened. Kept me up many nights after that, I can tell you. After that, well, I was sent for training and assigned to the Foreign Legion and sent here. Came with the drop into Arabia and fought my way here, and we've been guarding these damn oil fields since then." Holliday laughed, and said, "And you know what the most ironic thing is? I left to get away from nepotism and ineffectual officers, and here it is, come back to haunt me."

"If you've found what you hated about the Federal Forces here with Zeon, why do you still fight for them?" Maria asked.

"Where else can I go?" Holliday shot back. "I'm a traitor in the eyes of the Federation. The war's torn across the entire planet, it's not like I can find an island somewhere and escape it all. No, I've made my bed and I'll lie in it. It's all I can do now."

With a kind smile, Maria said, "It seems we are alike in some ways. I must head back now, or else Franklin will become upset."

"I understand. Thank you, Maria. For the wine and the company."

"You are welcome, Captain."

"Please, call me Samuel."

"Samuel, then. Good night, Samuel."

"Good night, Maria."

And with that, she was gone. Holliday leaned back in his chair and mulled the night's events over in his head. An interesting turn of events with Maria. At least he knew she wasn't the vapid kind of mistress that he had seen a lot of the 5th Division's officers take. Moore was still an arrogant twit, but if Maria could be convinced to help keep him under control Holliday did not want to take advantage of her like that, but as a last resort, it gave him an option.

That in mind, he shut off the CD, got up from his chair and went to bed.

 **October 29th, UC 0079**

The ground shook as eleven Zaku Desert-types made their way toward the camp. Holliday had taken the two platoons into the desert late yesterday afternoon, the first of the numerous exercises that Major Moore had demanded they start undertaking in preparation for whatever combat mission he had in mind for C Company.

Ground crews began scuttling about, preparing to take the Zakus into the massive hangars half-buried in the ground. These structures were the only major permanent buildings that had been constructed for C Company, needed to service the massive war machines.

Maneuvering his dun and yellow camouflaged Zaku down the ramp into the building, Holliday wiped the sweat from his brow. It was not as hot today as it had been the rest of the week, but the effects of the sun beating down on the metal mobile suit was murderous. On really brutal days, cockpit temperatures could reach well over 40 degrees Centigrade, even with all the cooling equipment that had been crammed into the desert model's pack. Despite Moore's orders to the contrary, Holliday had ditched his work dress and field blouse for his tropical uniform shirt. He'd be damned if he would roast in the cockpit under that twit's orders.

Speaking of whom as Holliday brought his Zaku onto the service platform, he saw the Major below yelling at some hapless mechanic. Looking at his side monitor, Holliday saw the reason why. With a sigh, he powered down the Zaku once it was locked into place and began pulling on his field blouse. Opening the hatch, he climbed out onto the lift platform that had been raised to cockpit level and hit the descend switch.

"Is there a problem, sir?" Holliday asked as he walked up to Moore, giving the poor mechanic a moment's respite.

"Yes, there is a problem," Moore declared. "This twit has begun changing the color of my Mobile Suit!" He pointed up toward the Gouf, which was in the process of having its forest green colors being repainted in colors matching those of the Asfar Skikkiyn Zakus.

"Major, that's part of the optimization process for desert warfare," Holliday informed him, trying to be diplomatic. "Your colors are proper for an environment such as Odessa, but in the desert we pride ourselves in some degree of being able to blend in to our background. Colors as dark as yours are easily spotted by some Fed pilot with sharp eyes, even from high altitude. By repainting your mobile suit to match ours, not only will it make you that much more effective in combat, but it shows that you are truly a part, and not only the commander of this unit."

Moore seemed to puff up at that. _Note to self_ , Holliday thought, _stroke Moore's ego. Makes him ever so much easier to work with._

"Well, put like that, Captain, I see the necessity. Carry on, Corporal, but next time, inform me, or I will pursue disciplinary actions."

"I understand, Major!" the mechanic shouted with a salute before running off to oversee completion of the work on the Gouf.

"Now tell me, Captain, how did the overnight exercises go? Well, I hope. I would like to begin planning for our first mission as soon as possible."

"It went well. I'll have a full report for you shortly, Major."

:Very good, very good. Soon, Captain, we'll show those Federation bastards what we can do!"

 _Too soon for my liking,_ Holliday thought, but he didn't say it.

 **Chapter 2 Notes:**

Uniforms: I've identified at least 3 kinds of Zeon uniforms and sometimes find it hard to keep them straight myself. Here's a breakdown and some observations.

Work Dress: The standard Zeon officer's uniform, with the rank mantle and nice, high boots. Looks cool, and completely impractical in the desert. What Major Moore wears all the time.

Field Dress: Standard Zeon enlisted uniform, there's also an officer's version of it with rank insignia that differ from the mantle version. There's also a general officer's insignia, like in the picture of 5th Division Ace Roy Greenwood, which was originally shown at (Note: The link, which was here, is defunct by the time of this posting. I leave the mention of it in to honor the memory of the now deceased Gundam Project)

Greenwood's also wearing what's pretty close to:

Tropical Dress: Similar to the standard field dress, but lighter and much more practical for a desert environment than work or field dress. Wolfgang Wahl and crew wear these in 0083, usually light tan and yellow colors, though I picture mine with more pockets, like Greenwood's shirt. There are short-sleeved versions, shorts, and these really nifty leather and canvas desert boots. Kawamoto clearly based these designs off of DAK uniforms, and so am I. There's also a five-button field blouse that can go over it, decked out with the basic Zeon officer marking and rank tabs on the lapels. The blouse is similar to the one that can be found in the DAK website I listed earlier.


	3. Chapter 3

**Mobile Suit Gundam: The Road To Alexandria**

 **Chapter 3  
November 3, UC 0079**

"The Operation," Moore began, "will be called Scorpion, after those beastly little things with the stingers. Because that is what we are going to do. We will sting the Federation when they least expect it, and retreat back into the sand."

"Why not just call it Market-Garden and get it over with," Holliday muttered to himself. He didn't think that this mission would be as disastrous as that ancient operation, but the time factor that the Major was pushing for reminded him of the deadlines imposed on the British XXX Corps.

"Do you have something to add, Captain Holliday," Moore asked, pointing at him with the riding crop he'd taken to carrying.

"Just concerned about the time factor, Major," Holliday answered honestly. "We are pushing the MS over 600 kilometers in a period of two days with little to no support. Even with desert-optimized units, that's still going to be rough on the equipment."

"I understand your concerns, Captain," but speed is paramount, Moore stated, slapping his baton into the palm of his hand for emphasis. "I want to get in and cause as much damage as possible before the Feddies can send reinforcements."

"From where?" Pappas mouthed to Holliday when Moore turned his attention back toward the map that had been set up on a display board at the end of the command tent. The Captain shrugged, and turned his attention back toward the Major.

"We leave this afternoon at 1700 hours. I know it's one of the hottest times of the day, but this will allow us to press on through the night. Any questions? No? Very well, you are dismissed. Rest up for the next few hours, but I want everyone in the hangars by 1600 hours to make certain your mobile suits are ready to go."

The assembled pilots stood and saluted, then left the command tent and the Major, who continued to examine the plans he had drawn up. As he walked, Holliday noticed that Pappas and Cusik had walked up behind him. "What do you two knuckleheads want?" he asked good-naturedly.

"Me and Cusik are going to get something to eat, Captain, want to join?" the bearded Sergeant told him, jerking his thumb in the direction of the mess tent.

"No, I think I'll let the Feds kill me, not the food," Holliday replied dryly. "I just want to rest up before we head out. It's going to be a long night. I'll see you two later." Waving, Holliday split off from his men and made his way to his tent. It was only somewhat stifling inside, as opposed to the full-blown heat that ravaged the outside. He tossed his cap on the table and sat down on his camp bed to remove his boots.

A soft knock came from outside, and Holliday looked up to see Maria poking her head into the tent. "I wanted to catch up with you before you left. It's going to be so boring around here without you."

"Oh, I thought it was boring around here in general." Holliday grinned. "I wasn't aware that I made things more interesting."

"Well, you don't really, but at least you're someone to talk to, when I can get away from Franklin for a bit; don't worry, he's off making sure everything is done right for this mission you're going on. Oh, and I brought you some lunch." She entered the tent, carrying a small basket. "These are some things we brought with us from Odessa, I'm afraid they'll go to waste if someone doesn't eat them. Besides, you deserve something better than the usual mess fare and Franklin will never know this is gone."

"Well, if you insist." Holliday smiled and stood up, moving toward the table. Maria removed the items from the basket, mostly dried fruits, some bread and cheese, and some tinned ham.

"The cheese," she told him, "is Fetta and very good. Just like I was able to get in Athens, before the war."

"I'll take your word for it, I don't think I've ever had it before." Indeed, it was as good as Maria had promised. As he ate, Holliday watched as Maria observed him patiently. Finally, he broke his silence and asked, "You have to be the most patient person I've met in a long time. It must be terribly boring around here for you; what do you do all day when not attending to his highness?"

With a laugh, Maria said, "I do get terribly bored. I try to read as much as I can. I'm even thinking of starting my memoirs. 'Tales of a Zeon Mistress,' maybe." They both laughed at this. Any diversion is welcome. "I suppose that's why I enjoy these little conversations we have, even if this is only the second. You are so much more, well, personable than Franklin. The poor man is an awful bore."

"Let's not talk about him," Holliday said as he peeled the lid off the tin of ham. It was pink and moist, unlike the last batch the mess had managed to acquire. "What about you? What do you want to do when the war is over?"

"I would like to go to space. I've never been there, and want to see it for myself. I've always looked up at it from Earth, but I want to be surrounded by it, feel the weight of gravity lifted from my soul."

"You sound like a contolist," Holliday said with a grin.

"Is there anything wrong with that?" Maria replied indignantly. "Is there anything wrong with an Earthnoid who is a contolist?"

"Not at all, but it is a little surprising to find an Earthnoid who believes in the philosophy. Most are satisfied to stay here all their lives."

"I've read Zeon Deikun. It was Gregor, my fiancé, who introduced me to his works. We were trying to get emigration status to the new Side 7 colony when the war broke out. If the war ends soon, I would still like to go."

"A noble dream," Holliday said wistfully.

"All right, your turn. What would you like to do after the war is over?" Maria leaned on the table, chin resting on her folded hands.

"Well, I hadn't really given it much thought. I'm a soldier, so I'd assume if our side wins I'll have to stay in the military until my term of enlistment is up. I don't think I can go back home to Side 2; my family effectively disowned me when I defected. Besides, I don't even know if my home colony survived the first weeks of the war. If I could, I would like to stay on Earth for a while. I would love to see some of the important places in mankind's history. So far, all I've seen of the planet is this damned desert."

They continued to converse for a few more minutes before Maria said, "I must go. Franklin always takes his lunch close to this time, and, well, I don't think he would be too happy about me spending time with you."

"I don't doubt that," Holliday agreed sourly.

"I will miss you, though, Samuel. I am getting to enjoy these little conversations." She leaned over and kissed his cheek. Holliday was too stunned to say anything. "Take care of yourself." With that, she gathered up her basket and left the tent.

Holliday sat at his camp desk, still staring blankly after her. He hoped it was nothing more than a friendly gesture, because he sure as hell did not need this kind of complication in his life.

The sun had begun to sink into the western sky, but it was still murderously hot when the Asfar Skikkiyn platoons made their final preparations to move out. Holliday, like the others, was wearing his work dress, but had packed his tropical uniform. A few hours in the heat of his Mobile Suit's cockpit might be just the thing to bring Moore around on his formality before functionality issues.

He took a few minutes to examine the preparations the maintenance crews had made for his Zaku. It was armed with a 90mm MMP-80 that had somehow been mistakenly shipped to Ghardaia base along with a rather hefty supply of ammunition the month before. Holliday had neglected to mention this to the quartermaster corps at Algiers, and had promptly lost the forms that had come with it. In the desert, you took whatever equipment you could get.

Most of C Company's Zakus were not equipped in the same manner. They'd started out rather standardized, but in the months that followed, malfunctions and use had led to the loss of certain items, and it was nearly impossible to get replacements, or at least correct replacements. So it came down to a missing missile pod here, a Zaku without the extra armor on its left arm, mismatched weapons. Most of the MS used the standard M120AS 105mm machine gun that was standard issue for the D-type, but some, like Holliday's unit, carried different rifles. One or two bore the standard 120mm Zaku rifle, and Pappas carried a 175mm Magella cannon that had been cannibalized from one of the tanks under Lieutenant King's command that had suffered an irreparable breakdown.

Likewise, the Major's Gouf had been equipped properly for the desert. The intake vents had been screened to keep out the maximum amount of dust and sand possible, and the knee and shoulder actuators had been covered with the same kind of canvas that covered the joints on the Desert Zakus. It was now the same dark yellow and light brown as the Desert Zakus, and some enterprising technician had painted the Asfar Skikkiyn unit symbol on the shield. Holliday wasn't sure if he appreciated his unit's symbol on Moore's mobile suit, but decided he was not in a position to argue. Moore was the Company commander, after all.

Speaking of whom, Holliday was amazed to see that Moore, clad in a green and black normal suit, had not even broken a sweat in the stale, hot air that filled the hangar bay. The rest of the mobile suit pilots had assembled, dressed in their field blouses over their high-collared field tunics, looked hot and uncomfortable. And this was despite the fact that all were desert veterans.

Moore looked them up and down and began, "Men, we are about to embark on Operation Scorpion, our crusade to show those Federation bastards that it is Zeon who rules Northern Africa! From here to the Nile they will come to fear us, as we smash their forces with our righteous indignation. Sieg Zeon!"

"Sieg Zeon!" the rallying cry was echoed around the hangar as soldiers and mechanics shook their fists in the air. Holliday noticed Maria standing by Moore's side was not taking part in this. Rather she looked pensive. This faded after a moment and the smile of the loyal mistress had returned as Moore turned to her. She wished him luck and kissed him deeply; at this, Holliday felt an unwanted bout of jealousy surge up inside of him. Frowning, he turned away and began issuing orders to the rest of the pilots.

"Okay, let's mount up and get under way! We've got a schedule to keep! Dammit, Cusik, I told you to get that damned rocket launcher secured!" Holliday began stalking off toward his own mobile suit, but threw one last glance over his shoulder. He caught Maria's eyes, and saw the apologetic look in her eyes. _I know,_ he thought, _that's the way it is._ With that, he focused his attention on the task at hand and climbed aboard the lift platform. By the time he turned around to activate the controls, Maria had already vanished. _That was for the best,_ he thought.

Holliday climbed into the Zaku's cockpit and sealed up the hatch. Flipping several switches with both hands, he initiated the mobile suit's startup sequence and the monitor screens came to life around him. Around him, the Zaku shook and vibrated as the generator spooled up.

"Control, this is Holliday. I'm moving out," he said into the headset microphone, holding it up to his mouth.

"We copy, Captain," replied the Sergeant in the control booth as Holliday pulled on his cap and fitted the headset over it. "You're cleared to leave the hangar. Disengaging locking clamps now. Good luck, sir."

The Zaku shuddered as the clamps popped open, allowing it to maneuver freely. Holliday walked it down off the maintenance platform and headed for the ramp that lead out of the hangar. The Zaku's footsteps echoed in the cavernous facility as it made its way up the ramp and outside. Once there, Holliday moved the Zaku over to a staging area to wait for the rest of the Company.

"Major, we're ready for you to give the order to move out," Holliday told Moore as the Gouf arrived in the staging area.

"Hmm, oh, yes. Men, this mission begins now!" Moore declared. "Move out! Captain, if you would handle the arrangements?"

"Certainly, sir," Holliday replied courteously, thinking that the Major did not know a thing about mobile suit tactics. "Alright, everyone. As we move out, form up into teams. Robataille, Mercer, you're with the Major. Sir, these men were part of Major Giannetta's team before his accident, they'll be able to provide the support you'll need. I want fifty-meter dispersal patterns between mobile suits, I want hundred meter dispersal between teams. Pappas, Cusik, you're with me. We're taking the point position."

Holliday walked the Zaku forward, moving it into the lead position of the group. Hefting his machine gun, he walked off into the open desert.

Maria watched as the column of Zakus marched off toward the wastes. She stood atop the hill the communications tent was situated on, gripping the flagpole in nervous anticipation. She was conflicted inside, wanting the mission to go smoothly, but at the same time wanting some to come back and others not to. It would simplify things so much.

She closed her eyes, then turned away. Whatever happened was out of her hands, now. All she could do was pray for the safe return of the only man of late who had treated her with kindness and not asked for anything in return.

 **November 4, 0079  
100 Kilometers from the Algeria Tunisia border…**

Sunlight was breaking over the battlements of the fortress that the Asfar Skikkiyn company had occupied for the day. Holliday stood atop the sand-weathered wall of the abandoned, somewhat crumbling building, scanning the desert before him with a pair of high-powered binoculars. He wondered what exactly it was that had drawn men out here in the first place. There was nothing worth fighting for in this godforsaken stretch of desert.

The fort was old, that much they could tell from its condition, but Holliday was able to place it as having been abandoned since the Second World War. The centuries-old artillery pieces they'd found in the courtyard the Zakus now occupied were a prime indicator of that.

Something of a human history buff, Holliday reasonably assumed that this fortress had once belonged to the French Foreign Legion. It felt somewhat fitting that the Zeon Foreign Legion was now using it, even if just for one day. Holliday felt a certain kinship with the men of that ancient fighting force, men who had given up their past to fight for another nation. He was certain that if the rest of the men knew anything about the French Foreign Legion, they would feel the same as he did.

But not Moore. To him, they'd just be another bunch of foreign mercenaries fighting for someone else's cause and country. Holliday hated that, hated the way Moore treated them all with contempt because they weren't true Zeons. Moore couldn't possibly understand what it was like for Holliday and his comrades, having given up everything they had to join Zeon, considered traitors by their homelands and families. He wasn't even sure if Moore truly believed in the cause they were fighting for; the Major seemed more interested in his own personal gain than any higher calling.

"Something bothering you, Captain?" Pappas asked, walking up beside Holliday. His hands were deep in the pockets of his brown greatcoat, and he slumped casually.

"No, not really. Just reflecting on history," Holliday said nonchalantly.

"Come on, sir," the bearded Sergeant said. "I know you too well to know when you're lying to me."

"Fine, I'm still annoyed with the Major. He's leading us off on some stupid raid through the desert and can't even be bothered to set up his own tent. How can we be expected to respect or be lead by a man who barely even thinks of us as human?"

"Well, he hasn't screwed anything up yet despite his attitude and his complete lack of practicality," Pappas pointed out. "Perhaps, given a little bit more time, he'll start to realize the error of his ways and loosen up. The desert has ways of changing a man."

"Thank you, O Source of Wisdom," Holliday said dryly. "Hey, would you look at that."

Pappas turned his attention toward the open desert, where the dew that had fallen had not yet evaporated. As the sun crept above the horizon, its rays reflected off the droplets, causing a scintillating pattern across the desert. Neither Holliday nor Pappas, who had since become accustomed to dawn since their arrival on Earth, had ever seen this phenomenon before. Without a further word, they stood and watched.

 **November 5, 0079  
Outside of Tataouine, Tunisia**

The endless dunes of the Grand Erg Oriental behind them, the Zakus of the Asfar Skikkiyn now hid in the mesas of the Tunisian plateau. The Federation's security was lax in this area, allowing them to come within a few miles of the base, really just a garrison set up on the crossroads to show that the Federation really did have an interest in this portion of North Africa. To Holliday's knowledge, it served no other function than to thumb its nose at the Zeons.

Holliday sat cross-legged atop a mesa overlooking the base, scanning it over with the IR function of his binoculars. The base itself was a collection of squat, stone buildings that had been bleached white by the sun. He saw what he thought was the top of an underground fuel tank, but couldn't be certain since his observation was interrupted by Moore, who was crouched beside him.

"Have you located their main defenses, yet?" Moore demanded.

"Part of them, Major," Holliday replied tersely. "I've found what I think is the building where they're storing their tanks, it's a long, flat building that's partially under ground. Clever, really. Similar to our own setup. Keeps equipment out of the heat during the day."

"Yes, yes, very fascinating, Captain. Now what about their defenses?"

"Getting to that, Major. All I can see are a couple of pillboxes, looks like they're armed with 30mm cannon. Not enough to hurt us, but enough to slow us down until their tanks are mobilized. Still, I suspect there's something else down there but I can't see it."

"Whatever it is, it can't be too important. What we must do is get past those defenses before they can mobilize their tanks," Moore declared, a fact that Holliday was already well aware of. "The longer we delay here, the more night we waste to cover our attack."

"I'm aware of that, Major," Holliday snapped as he got to his feet. "But whether or not we have to fight in daylight is a moot point compared to what defenses they can throw at us. If there's something there that delays us long enough for those tanks to mobilize, we could be in serious trouble. If you're not going to take that into consideration, then I'm just going to have to!"

Taken aback, Moore stepped away from the glaring Holliday. "I'll remind you not to speak to me in that manner, Captain," he managed to get out.

"Apologies, sir!" Holliday sneered as he stormed past the stunned Major back toward the Zakus. He didn't speak until he was sealed into his cockpit, whereupon he flung his cap at the main monitor and proceeded to unleash a stream of obscenity-laced adjectives related to Moore. How could the man be so impatient that he would discount the advice of a combat experienced officer that might keep everyone alive? Was he that eager for a fight against this stupid, purposeless outpost in the middle of the Tunisian plateau?

Holliday sat fuming for several more minutes until Moore's voice crackled over the radio. "We will begin our attack shortly. My team will lead the assault, we're going to go in over the mesa and strike deep into the Fed base. Teams three and four will flank the enemy, destroying as many gun emplacements as they can. Captain Holliday, your team will act as rear guard and heavy support. Any questions?"

It wasn't so much a question as rather a derogatory comment that crossed Holliday's mind, but he did not voice his opinion. This just proved that Moore was a petty bastard, assigning him to rear guard. That was when Pappas's voice sounded over the cockpit speakers, "This gives us a chance to cover them for whatever you think is still out there, sir."

Not surprised that Pappas could read his mood, Holliday asked instead, "How'd you know that concern?" He looked to the side monitor where he could see the hand of Pappas's Zaku resting on the shoulder of his own.

Chuckling, Pappas told him, "Cusik's been playing with a directional mike he 'borrowed' from the communications section. Got shipped to them by mistake and they had no use for it, so-"

"Pappas?"

"Sir?"

"Stow it. I should put you knuckleheads on report for listening in on a private conversation, but that would put you at Moore's mercy. Look sharp, we're starting."

Franklin Moore moved his Gouf into ready position and hit his jet boosters. The dun-colored MS rocketed up into the air, coming down into a crouching position at the top of the mesa. He'd show that smart-ass Holliday he had what it took to command this backwards outfit. He'd show Kelanie he had what it took to get results. Maybe in a month's time, he could submit a transfer request to the 5th Division's commander, General Bitter, and leave this backwards continent.

Maybe he could go back to space, perhaps resume his work on Kycillia's staff. After a tour on Earth he would certainly have the prestige to get a plum assignment with the Mobile Assault Force again.

Glancing at the two Zakus that flanked him- what were the pilots' names again? Mercer and Roba-something, sounded French he said, "Launch our assault into the center of their compound on my mark. Mark!"

The Gouf shot into the air, dust kicked up from the leg-mounted jet thrusters. A half second later, the jets mounted in the legs and the rear skirts of the two Zakus whined to life and sent them hurtling after their commander.

Private First Class David Goldstein hated his job. He hated his post, and he thoroughly hated the desert. Although an Earthnoid, he has been born and raised in New York City, a damn site more comfortable than this beastly desert, where it couldn't decide if it wanted to cook him or freeze him. David loved New York, and felt it was a damn shame those Zeek bastards had occupied it.

He wanted nothing more than to be transferred to a posting where he could actually make a difference in the war. Or at least feel like he was making a difference in front line operations. He'd heard that a force was gathering at the Belfast base for some big operation that was supposed to really hurt the Zeeks. Oh, to be a part of it.

As it was, he was stuck out here in a sentry tower in the desert. Leaning his rifle on the railing, he fished a crumpled pack of cigarettes out of his heavy coat and stuck one in his mouth. As he raised his lighter to light the end, he saw something moving in the darkness above him. A second later it had resolved itself into a giant, fast-moving shape topped off with the unmistakable pink monoeye of a Zeon mobile suit.

"Holy s***!" he exclaimed, falling backwards off the tower as the mobile suit crashed to the ground a dozen meters away. It was enormous to his eyes, with great, curved horns on its shoulders. The monoeye flashed hot pink for a second, then the mobile suit raised its left arm and began wrecking havoc on the base.

Goldstein scrambled for the nearest bunker, yelling, "The Zeeks are attacking! The f***ing Zeeks are attacking us!"

It took only a few more seconds for the bunker crew to sound the alarm.

Moore smiled as he strafed the Federation base with the finger cannons in his Gouf's left hand. Guard towers and supply depots went up in columns of flame, ammunition touched off by the fire he was laying down. There was some resistance from the reinforced pillboxes and gun bunkers, but they were mostly on the outer edge of the base, being handled by the other teams.

"Head for the tank bunker," he instructed his escorts. "Leave nothing intact. If you can find any fuel dumps, destroy them. The fire should spread and burn the rest of the base."

 _My, but this was easy,_ Moore thought as he marched forward, leaving smashed buildings in his wake. _Resistance was paltry; they'd never get those tanks out before the bunker was destroyed. That Holliday was a raging paranoid,_ Moore decided.

What the Major didn't know was that in addition to the main force of Type 61 tanks being prepped in the main bunker, a secondary force has already prepared for combat. One of the buildings, disguised to look like an infantry barracks, had been fitted with a false wall that dropped away, revealing the unit of five tanks. Engines roaring, the twin-gunned vehicles pulled out of the bunker and started toward the marauding Zeons.

"I knew it!" Holliday crowed as he watched the Type 61s emerge from their hiding place. The creeping feeling that the Feddies had an ace up their sleeve had been borne out. Holliday swung the camera toward Moore's team, who were doing a thoroughly good job of trashing the base, but were oblivious to the tanks snaking up behind them. Not even the other teams, working on the defenses around the base's flanks had noticed them.

Tempting as it was to let them deliver what Moore had coming to him, Holliday could not abandon the other troops, men he'd served with for months. "Pappas, Cusik! Tank platoon at 2 o'clock!" Holliday shouted. "Pappas, cover us with the 175'er, Cusik and I will engage them at close range. Ready? Go!"

Jamming his feet down on the thruster pedals, Holliday sent his Zaku hurtling into the air. It landed just behind the tanks, jolting Holliday against his restraints. Only taking a second to recover, he opened fire on the tank nearest to him with the MMP-80. The 90mm shells ripped through the thinner top armor of the tank, turning the interior into a shredded mess. The fuel tanks exploded, and the machine was tossed up into the air a dozen feet, flipping over before it crashed to the ground.

A flash shot between Holliday and Cusik's Zakus, now about twenty meters apart. Pappas was cutting it close with the tank cannon, but Holliday trusted in his Sergeant's aim. The shell had blown the turret off another tank, sending it careering into the wall of a building.

"Captain, a pair are making a break!" came Cusik's warning.

Holliday saw two of the tanks trying to use the confusion to make a break toward the main bunker. He had to hand it to these Feddie tank crews; they didn't crack under fire. Holliday ran through the base, machine gun in hand and blazing away at the Federal units. He wasn't having much of an effect on them, running around like this wasn't making the Zaku a very stable firing platform. But as he closed, Holliday pulled his Zaku's massive heat hawk from its mount, the giant battleaxe heating up to a deep, cherry red as he activated it.

To his left a fuel tank exploded under Pappas's carefully aimed fire, but Holliday didn't let that distract him. As the two Type 61s moved for a clear field of fire on Moore's unit, he hit the jets in the Zakus legs and skirt again, propelling the Zaku forward. With a mighty swing, he slammed the heat hawk down through the turret of the closest tank. The superheated blade cut deep into the gray tank, cleaving it almost in half.

Pulling the heat hawk out of the tank, Holliday rolled the Zaku away, crushing a nearby jeep as the tank exploded. Shrapnel pelted off the Zaku's shoulder-mounted shield as he brought the giant machine to a kneeling position, training his 90mm on the last tank. Expression neutral, Holliday pulled the trigger.

And was rewarded with a series of dry clicks from the machine gun. Oh hell! he shouted, scrambling to strip a new magazine from the pack mounted on the Zaku's skirt. He wasn't going to make it, the Type 61 was already lining those twin cannons up on the platoon. Thumbing his radio transmitter on, Holliday yelled, "Major, tank at five o'clock! Look out!"

Moore's Gouf whirled out of the way as the tank fired; one of the shells still skipped off the shield mounted to the Gouf's left arm. The other one continued on unimpeded and struck Robataille's Zaku in mid turn right in the radiator backpack. The impact blew half of the pack clean off and spun the Zaku around. It collapsed to the ground, crushing the remains of a demolished tank.

"Robataille, are you all right?" Holliday called as he finished reloading. With cold detachment, he squeezed off a quick burst into the tank and brought the Zaku to its feet.

"I'm a little shaken but the bastard did a number on my Zaku," was Robataille's reply. "The cooling system is decimated and I've got warning indicators screaming at me from everywhere. I can get it moving again, but it's not going to make it back to the base."

Sure enough, when Holliday looked over the damage, he saw the shredded remains of the cooling system mounted in the radiator backpack, exposed by the enormous hole the enemy tank had blasted into it. The right-side transfer cable hung loosely from its waist mount, and the entire right side of the Zaku was blackened and pitted from the explosion.

"We'll get it back as far as we can," Holliday declared. "I'm not leaving this equipment here for the Feds to salvage. Major. Major!"

"Yes, Captain?" Moore sounded startled by Holliday trying to get his attention.

"Sir, we've still got that main tank bunker to take out. Suggest we stop standing about and kill it as soon as we can."

"Oh, yes, I suppose you're right. We still have to get that bunker, men. Let's move out!" Truth to tell, Moore was still a little stunned by the sudden attack from behind. Sluggishly, he spurred his mobile suit into motion as Holliday helped Robataille's Zaku to its feet. Pappas and Cusik had moved in close behind him, their weapons sweeping across the base as they searched for signs of resistance.

Cusik took a moment to steal a glance at Moore's Gouf, about a dozen meters to his left. Stupid man, can't accept an idea if it isn't his own, he thought. I hope he realizes that he owes the Captain his life. Be a blessing if he died right now, I could even get away with doing it. But that was as far as that idea would get. Cusik would have happily pulled the trigger on Moore, but knew that despite Holliday's dislike for Moore, he would never approve outright fragging the Major. Cusik didn't put much faith in officers part of the reason he'd been booted from the Federal Forces but he would follow Holliday to the ends of the Earth and beyond. Back in April, it had been Holliday who had risked his life to pull Cusik from his burning J-type.

A flash of movement caught his eye, and Cusik swung the Zaku's head toward it. "Tank, bearing at eleven o'clock," he called. "Pappas, can you hit it?"

"I've acquired him."

"Shoot!"

Pappas's big 175mm boomed once, dropping a shell neatly on the top of the turret. The tank exploded, and Pappas stated nonchalantly, Got him.

"Good work, Pappas," Holliday commended him. "Okay, everyone concentrate fire on the main bunker; use your grenades and rockets. Major, unless you have any other specific targets in mind, I suggest we blow up their tanks and get the hell out of here before they can get organized and call in air support. It's a bloody long way back to the base from here."

"Hmm? Yes, men, this is our main target. Once it's destroyed, we can begin withdrawal," Moore parroted, twisting Holliday's ideas into his own once more. "Captain, you may commence firing."

Holliday moved forward, raising the Zaku's left arm. He centered the bunker in his target reticule and fired the first of the missiles from the three-chambered launcher mounted on the arm's buckler shield. The rocket struck a structural support near the entrance, and part of the bunker collapsed in a cloud of concrete dust.

Within moments the entire bunker had been reduced to rubble. Holliday turned to find Moore raking the fleeing infantry with fire from the Gouf's finger cannons. The Captain frowned in his displeasure, but held his tongue about it. "Major, we've finished the main objective."

"Very good, Captain. Begin withdrawal now. I think we can write this mission off as a success."

 **Chapter 3 Notes:**

See, I promised you some combat in this one. Zaku on tank violence, oh yeah!

Market Garden: Montgomery's operation designed to end WWII by Christmas, 1944. It combined the largest airborne operation ever with an ambitious ground thrust to capture a number of key bridges in Holland. It's also one of the biggest disasters for the Allies, who didn't count on a couple of SS Panzer divisions being parked in Arnhem, the final and most important bridge, among other things.

Anyway, Holliday, being both an amateur historian and a pessimist, brings up Market-Garden precisely because of the demands placed on XXX Corps that were rather unrealistic for them to meet, namely pushing up to Arnhem from the Belgian border in two days. I bring it up because I've been spending a lot of time with my DVD copy of A Bridge Too Far. I highly recommend it, it's a war movie where most of the characters are real people, most of them just as colorful as they're portrayed in the film. Don't believe me? Read the book by Cornelius Ryan that the film is based on (the film does take some dramatic liberties, but is still pretty faithful to real events). Ryan's research was thorough and very in-depth, drawn from interviews from participants on both sides. Here's a web reference to check out: .

The French Foreign Legion: Algeria was one of their main theaters of operation. Kind of fitting to link them with the Zeon Foreign Legion.


	4. Chapter 4

**Mobile Suit Gundam: The Road to Alexandria**

 **Chapter 4**

 **November 8, 0079**

The mood inside the command tent was tense. Major Moore was bent over the table that held the command center's radio, his left hand balled into a fist and resting on the table. In his right hand, he held the radio's microphone, and he was yelling into it.

"What do you mean you've got no contact with Odessa?" he was demanding of the man on the other end of the transmission, a communications officer in the Battalion headquarters in Algiers. "It's only the bloody damn central base for the First Division, and you cannot contact them?"

"Major," we lost communications with them two days ago, along with M'Quve's resources and logistics center, and with the base at Alexandria as well," the put-upon officer informed him. "We don't know what is happening, but there have been rumors of a major Fed troop movement. The Colonel sent out recon flights; we can let you know if you're still interested. But that's all the information I can give you at the moment. Sir."

"Goddamn it!" Moore bellowed, hurling the microphone to the ground. The neck broke away from the base and the pieces bounced once before coming to rest on the planked floor of the tent. He stood there, red-faced and huffing in anger, as the rest of the tent fell silent for several tense seconds.

It was Holliday who broke the silence. He'd just walked into the tent and witnessed the scene, and found he could not resist needling the Major. "Is there a problem, sir?" he asked innocently.

"Yes, there's a problem!" shouted Moore, who was still clad in his normal suit. He'd been so worked up to get his report off in person that he had not even taken the time to change. "Those idiots in Battalion have lost contact with the First Division and won't give me an explanation!"

Holliday did not like the sound of that. The mention of a major Federation troop movement coupled with the fact that the First Division had gone on a massive communications blackout led him to speculate whether or not the Feds had finally given in and attacked Odessa. Also, the news of losing contact with the Alexandria Base the only Zeon stronghold in Egypt, was even more disturbing. Alexandria had been set up as an attempt to break through the Federation-held regions in the Middle East to reach the 1st Division's forces to the north. If the Feds had moved troops through there, they would have had to have kept Alexandria occupied, lest they leave an enemy at their backs.

"Holliday, are you listening?" Moore barked.

Frowning inwardly, Holliday instead replied, "With rapt attention, Major."

"Now I'm unable to send my report to Headquarters."

"Sir, correct me if I'm wrong, but shouldn't the report go to General Bitter at Kilimanjaro? He is our Divisional commander."

"I'm trying to get this out to people who will care about how well we are doing, Holliday," Moore explained, speaking to the Captain as though he were a small child. "I know people in the 1st Division who can get it to the right people, even up to Her Excellency Kycillia herself. Imagine the accolades that I we would get if our actions were brought to Her Excellency's attention."

 _I doubt Kycillia Zabi really cares about the actions of one 5th Division company out in the middle of the desert,_ Holliday thought. "I see, Major. Perhaps the communications lines will be back up within a day or so it could just be the Feddies trying to annoy us by throwing up a communications blackout."

"Hmm, you could be right. Was there something you wanted, Captain?"

"Just reporting that the Company has been locked down, and the maintenance crew has begun servicing the mobile suits. They also report that it's quite possible to repair Robataille's unit; we still have enough spare parts left over from Captain Giannetta's Zaku to fix the coolant systems." Moore had wanted to abandon the damaged Zaku in the middle of the desert, but Holliday had vehemently opposed it. Nothing was wasted in the desert.

"I see," Moore replied, choking back his pride. He had been convinced that Robataille's Zaku was a lost cause. It galled him to learn that Holliday had been right all along. "Anything else?"

"No, sir."

"Very good. You are dismissed, Captain."

"Franklin must be up in arms about something," Maria said to Holliday as they walked. "He's been back four hours and hasn't yet come to see me." She was dressed in tropical shorts and a khaki shirt with the sleeves rolled up, her head protected by her sun hat.

"He's still in the command tent trying to reach the 1st Division. Tell me, Maria, does he often obsess about things?" Holliday asked her, sliding the glare-goggles down over his eyes. They were leaving the shade of the rock outcropping they had been walking beneath and headed back out into the sunlight.

Nodding, Maria told him, "Quite often, Samuel. You've already seen it first hand, with that 'stupid, pointless raid,' I believe you called it. Once he gets an idea in his head, there's no stopping him. He'll likely be in the command center the rest of the day, pouting because he can't get through."

"Lucky for us, I suppose." Holliday kicked absently at a stone as they walked, stirring dust into the air. "Bored while we were gone?"

"Quite, and looking forward to a moment like this. It is nice to have someone to talk to who isn't completely wrapped up in themselves or in their career. Someone who is interesting." She looked pointedly over her sunglasses at Holliday.

"Oho, so I'm interesting, eh?"

 **November 21, 0079**

The weeks following the Asfar Skikkiyn raid on Tataouine had been much calmer than the week preceding it. Major Moore had spent the two days following the return to camp fretting over the 1st Division's communications blackout. It hadn't been until the tenth that radio communications had been established with the Alexandria Base, home of Roy Greenwood's Karakal Unit. Holliday had gone through Terrestrial Combat Training school with Greenwood and spoke to him directly. The story Greenwood had to tell was that in the early morning of the 6th, a Federation commando unit had raided Alexandria and knocked out all communications lines. By the time they'd fought them off, Karakal had also lost contact with the 1st Division in Odessa. Greenwood also passed along reports of massive Fed troops movements up the Red Sea toward the Mediterranean, possibly what the raid had been meant to drawn their attention from.

What Holliday and Lieutenant King, the company's resident conspiracy theorist, had been able to piece together from that and other bits of information was that the Federation had indeed attacked Odessa, and by all indications, had been successful.

Moore had gone ballistic at that, accusing Holliday and King of spreading sedition. The two officers had borne his abuse stoically, and then watched as he stormed out. Within a day or so he had grudgingly come to accept that Odessa had fallen, but had not offered an apology to either man.

The Major had spent more and more time on his own, or with the small cadre of NCOs he had brought with him from Odessa. This had come to the relief of most of C Company, who found themselves back under the day to day command of Captain Holliday. It had also seen the dress uniform order rescinded, after a remark by Moore had been interpreted as him not caring about it any more. Pappas and Cusik had made noises about burning their work dress, but so far had not acted upon that threat.

Surprisingly, Moore had not been spending much time with Maria, which gave Holliday a chance to fill in when he wasn't trying to single-handedly keep the base from falling apart around them. Holliday, ever the curious scholar, became fascinated by the stories Maria would relate to him about the myths and legends her Grandfather had told her about. Maria, in turn, learned from Holliday what life was like in space, and they both discovered they shared a love of classical music.

Holliday had to admit he was falling hard for Maria, but would not admit it to anyone else. It was partly the way she innocently flirted with him, but more to it, Holliday found her to be open and inquisitive, and sensitive at the same time, despite the reality of her situation. It disgusted him that she was nothing more than property to Moore, a trophy to be displayed in public. It didn't do anything to improve his opinion of the Major.

Moore had emerged from his conferences with a new plan, which he detailed to the Company's officers in a hastily summoned staff meeting. It involved a series of retaliatory strikes on other Federation bases in North Africa, one at Casablanca on the coast of the Atlantic Ocean to the west, and the one at Tobruk on the coast of the Mediterranean to the east.

It had been, much to Holliday's relief, Lieutenant King who had shot down those plans when he had pointed out that, first of all, there was no way the entire company's armored corps was going to make it all the way to those locations and back without support units namely Gaws and/or Gallop transports. He had also told the Major that those bases fell within the sphere of operation of the Pink Panther unit and the Karakal units, respectively. Not only would Major Moore have to get the permission of both unit commanders to operate in their spheres, but also from 5th Division HQ. Moore had seemed dispirited after that, and Holliday noticed him drinking a lot more at the twice-weekly officers' dinners.

This evening, Holliday was once more sitting out in front of his tent, Vivaldi softly playing from within. It was getting colder during the day now, only 30 degrees Centigrade as opposed to 35, and the nights were getting even colder than that as winter approached. Holliday was clad in his field blouse, slouched in his canvas-backed chair, just watching the sunset in the distance.

The serenity was not to last.

From the direction of the Major's tent, there was a horrible crash and the sound of shattering glass jolted Holliday out of his daze. Leaning forward, he could hear the sound of raised voices, terrible, slanderous threats were coming from the voice that Holliday identified as Moore's, followed by the sharp sound of an impact on flesh. At this, Holliday bolted out of his chair, ready to investigate.

He didn't have to. A second later, Maria came charging out of Moore's tent in tears, hand clasped to her cheek. She made straight for Holliday's tent, and threw her arms around him, sobbing uncontrollably.

"Maria," what Holliday began, but stopped abruptly when he saw the fresh bruise raising on her cheek. Without a word he hustled her into his tent and sat her down on the edge of his bed. "What happened?" he asked her when she'd had a moment to compose her self.

"F-f-f-franklin. I d-d-dropped the last bottle of his favorite wine and he-"

"He struck you over a Goddamned bottle of wine?" Holliday said hotly. His mouth twisted into a snarl, and he untangled himself from Maria's arms and stood up. He walked across the tent, Maria still sobbing but puzzled by his actions.

"Samuel, w-what are you doing?" she asked, a note of fear creeping into her voice as she watched him remove his pistol from the holster slung across his table chair.

"I'm going to show that bastard what happens to men who beat women because of accidents," Holliday replied, working the pistol's action. He turned to face the tent's entrance, and was about to walk out when Maria threw herself at him again.

"Don't!" she begged him. "Please, don't kill Franklin!"

"You're defending that monster?" Holliday was incredulous.

"No, I don't want you to kill him for my sake! I don't want you to become a murderer because of me. Think of what they'll do to you for killing him."

"The Company wouldn't do anything," Holliday muttered under his breath. "Okay, I won't kill him. Now. If he does this to you again well, let's not dwell on that right now. Is there anything I can- do for you right now?"

"Just stay with me, for tonight," she asked.

"Certainly, my lady," Holliday replied as he guided her back to the bed.

Dawn came too quickly for Holliday, despite the fact that he had not slept at all. Maria lay in his arms, sleeping soundly, the pain of last night forgotten. Forgotten, save for the bruise that marred her otherwise beautiful face. Holliday was no expert, but it did not look overly serious to him, and he thought it would fade in a few days.

The events of last night had served to draw them ever closer together. Holliday swore that he would let no more harm come to Maria, no matter what the consequences for himself might be. The only bright spot in his life, he was damned if he'd let anything happen to her.

Maria began to stir, and looked to into Holliday's face. She graced him with a contented smile. "Good morning," she said quietly.

"Good morning. How are you feeling?"

"Better, safer. Thank you for staying with me."

"It was the least I could do." Holliday paused. "Has this happened before?"

"Franklin has a temper, but he's never resorted to physical violence. I think the pressure and disappointment of the last few weeks have been taking a toll on him. You've seen how he is, and he's been drinking a great deal of late."

"Don't make excuses for his actions," Holliday told her. "The man's incorrigible. Even if he didn't hit you, he still treats you like property. How can you stand being with a man like that?"

"It's a lot better than life was before I met him," Maria countered a little harshly. "Living on the streets of Odessa, wondering where my next meal was going to come from. I wish I'd died with my fiancé in the invasion, but fate spared me. As inconsiderate and insensitive as Franklin is, he's all I have."

"Not any more. You have me now. I'll do anything for you. I've already spared his life because you wanted me to."

Maria's expression softened as she sat up. "And I thank you for that, Samuel. But what was it you had said about your decision to join Zeon? Now it is my turn to lie in the bed that I have made." She glanced toward the tent flap, where the light of the sun was just beginning to creep through. "I must return to my own tent. If Franklin finds out that I've been with you all night, I'm afraid his wrath will extend past me."

She started to leave, but Holliday caught her arm. "I understand, but know that I meant what I said. I'll not let harm come to you again."

Maria gave him a sweet smile, and kissed him on the lips. She lingered there for a few seconds before she broke away and vanished from the tent. Holliday remained there, motionless, still feeling her presence in the tent. The air still smelled of her fragrance, the bed was still warm with the heat from her body.

Without a further word, Holliday grabbed his pistol belt and hat and stormed out of his tent. He went right past a somewhat startled Moore, and it took every once of the younger man's self-control not to shoot the Major there on the spot.

"Where are you going?" Moore demanded as Holliday stomped past him.

"Patrol, sir!" the Lieutenant replied without even looking back. He marched straight off to the motor pool and jumped in a jeep, much to the consternation of the Sergeant on duty. Ignoring the man's protests, Holliday gunned the engine and put it in gear. The jeep tore out of the compound and into the desert.

Holliday had no idea where he was going, he just wanted to get as far away from Moore as possible. He needed to get as far away from that whole, twisted relationship that existed between Moore and Maria, which he was inexorably being drawn into. Needed to get away before he was consumed by this growing rage and jealousy.

The sun was steadily rising into the sky by the time Holliday pulled the jeep to a stop out in the middle of the oil fields. Raising his dust-covered goggles, he looked around at the field, lost in thought. _This is going to get worse,_ Holliday decided. _This is going to get ugly, and come back and cause something bad to happen._

He leaned back in the jeep's seat, wondering about a course of action.

 **November 30, 0079**

The last week had seen the most tension in the camp since Moore's arrival. Holliday had been downright curt with everyone, including his most loyal subordinates. When he wasn't required to be on duty, he spent his time avoiding everyone else. He had barely seen Maria, and did not really know if he wanted to.

Moore, for his part, was still drinking heavily fueled by his disappointment at not being able to attack anywhere else, coupled with rumors that the Federation had something else big in store for Zeon. The 1st Division had been beaten back past the Urals, now, and it seemed as though Federation attention would be turning to Africa or North America next. Because of this, Moore had the entire Company on full alert, with round the clock mobile suit patrols around the perimeter of the base. Moore himself was conspicuously absent from said patrols.

The weather had also taken a sharp left turn in the last week. Temperatures had been dropping steadily during the daytime as winter approached, the skies had been blotted with steel gray clouds. There had been no rain, but the possibility was there. Many of the soldiers who had been stationed at Ghardaia base found this notion intriguing; they had only experienced the long, hot, dry summer in the desert, and the thought of rain out here seemed impossible to them.

Holliday sat in his tent, having skipped the weekly senior officers' supper in Moore's tent. Of late, these had become a farce and no more than an excuse for the Major to demonstrate to the officers just how disgruntled he was with the whole situation. What had begun as a morale-booster had quickly turned into a depressing farce. Luckily, Holliday had been out on patrol today and was claiming fatigue to get out of it.

The remains of the meal he'd brought from the mess tent sat upon his table, which was also where his boots were planted. Saint-Saens's Samson and Delilah was tonight's musical choice Holliday thought it was appropriate for the desert, for some reason as he read the latest issue of Marching Toward Victory. It was supposed to be the weekly military newspaper for the Zeon forces, but it had degenerated, like much of the war, into a mouthpiece for the Zeon propaganda ministers. There was no mention in it of the recent setbacks in Europe and Asia, as a matter of fact, it claimed that total victory over the Federation was imminent within weeks. Holliday enjoyed reading it to get a laugh every once and a while.

He was still depressed, though. He knew he was acting like a complete bastard to his men, and resolved to stop doing it on the morrow. The last parting with Maria still nagged at him. That she was so willing to casually toss aside the real feelings that had been developing between the two of them to maintain this farce with Moore. But at the same time, he understood that she could not just leave the Major. Where, indeed, would she go?

Fate, he reflected as he tossed the newspaper onto the table, was cruel. Holliday pulled his feet off the table and stood up, ready to go to bed. It had been a long day, and the sun had set some hours ago. As he made for his bunk, the tent flap suddenly opened, and Maria walked through, glancing over her shoulder.

Maria? What

Shh, she hushed him, putting a slim finger over his lips. Franklin is asleep and his staff have retired for the night. I wanted to see you. You've been avoiding me.

I know, I know, he admitted. But after last week If I hadn't stayed away something very bad would have happened. I can't stand to see Moore treat you the way he does. Maria, I've come to care for you a great deal.

I know. That's why I'm here.

Oh? Oh!

Chapter 4 Notes:

Okay, it's short this time, and I took a damn long time getting this out. Sue me. Sometimes we get writers' block. Anyway, if it seems rushed, it is. I have a basic idea of the next chapter in my head and just wanted to get on to it. Next time, it hits the fan in more ways than one.

Samson and Delilah: more specifically Samson and Delilah: Act III: Bacchanale O by Camille Saint-Saens, a French composer. The version I have in mind was performed by the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra, conducted by Lorin Maazel. I heard this driving home from work the other day and said, This has got to show up in the story! Yes, it was that cool.


	5. Chapter 5

**Mobile Suit Gundam: The Road To Alexandria**

 **Chapter 5**

 **December 6, UC 0079**

"Attention! Attention! All senior officers report to the command center! Repeat, all senior officers report to the command center!"

Samuel Holliday came tearing out of his tent at the PA system announcement. His shirt was half-buttoned and his field blouse was gripped in his hand as he dashed through the compound, boots pounding on the sandy ground. Skidding to a halt and nearly slipping on the loose gravel he entered the command tent to find most of the senior officers and a few senior NCOs already there. Noticing Lieutenant King standing near the back of the crowd, Holliday sidled up to the junior officer as he finished buttoning up his tunic.

"What's going on?"

King, a smallish, dark-haired man frowned as he replied, "We got a transmission squelched to us from Algiers claiming they were under attack. It broke up in static after a couple of seconds, so we can't tell if it was genuine."

"Well that takes the cake," Holliday muttered as he pulled on his field blouse. "And we've had nothing more from them?"

"Nothing more," announced Major Moore as he stepped out from the center of the crowd. Holliday cast a look up and down the man, he was back in his spit-and-polish dress uniform, looking better than he had in almost a month. There was also a slightly disturbing look in the man's eye, as though the thought of a coming conflict was giving him more life. I'm ordering a recon flight to be sent out. Major Callahan of D Company agrees that should be done.

"I'll keep the platoons on standby in case it is a real attack. Chances are, if Algiers has come under attack, we're next," Holliday stated.

"Indeed. Lieutenant King, I would like your tanks to remain on standby as well," Moore said. "If it is a Federation attack, by God we'll show them what we're made of."

Holliday did not voice his opinion; he didn't think the Feds were going to throw a lightweight force into a direct strike on Africa. And with their success in Europe, they were going to be riding a victorious high. That alone could be hard to fight against, especially for troops stuck in the middle of nowhere for months on end. But Holliday was resolved to defend this base as best he could in the face of a Federation attack.

Leaving the command tent, Pappas and Cusik fell in beside their commander. "You think it's true, sir?" Pappas asked. "Have the Feddies invaded Africa at last?"

"I think so, Pappas. It was a matter of time before they did so, especially after their victory at Odessa." Holliday thought for a moment. "What disturbs me is that we've been getting none of the rumors we got prior to Odessa. Not even Greenwood at Alexandria's heard anything from the other Divisions. It's as though we've been cut off completely, and that's what has me worried."

"I see a repeat of April," Cusik piped up, looking even more sour than usual. "Except that this time we're going to be the defenders."

A small crowd had gathered at the edge of the airfield as the recon flight prepared to take off. Moore was giving final instructions to the flight crews, clad in light blue and gray normal suits. They saluted as he handed them his handwritten orders, and dashed for their planes waiting out on the runway.

Maria made her was up to Holliday, who was standing near the back of the crowd. Wrapping her hands around his arm, she asked, "What's going on? I haven't seen Franklin this excited since the night before the raid."

"We lost contact with Battalion this morning," Holliday told her, gripping one of her hands. "We're sending a recon flight to check, but we're pretty sure the Federation has invaded Africa."

"Fighting is going to escalate, isn't it?"

Holliday nodded gravely. "I don't think the Federation will be content to stop at Algiers."

The whine of jet engines spooling up came from the tarmac, drowning out any more chance at conversation. The recon flight, a pair of the swan-necked Dopps and the oddly shaped Luggun taxied out onto the main runway and, in turn, throttled up and shot down the runway and lifted off into the sky. Holliday and Maria watched as they circled the base once before streaking off to the north.

"Goshawk flight, this is Goshawk lead, we're coming up on Battalion's air defense zone," the pilot of the lead Dopp reported to the rest of the flight. His GPS display was keyed up, indicating the ground-to-air defenses on the map. A red line showed the edge of fire effectiveness. Three seconds later, the flight had passed over it, and no flak was there to greet them.

"I still haven't made contact with their ground control, "the sensor operator on Recon 1 reported. He'd been attempting to do so for most of the last hour. "I'm getting Minofski interference something fierce, though. Seems like something big went down, but I can't tell what."

"Start taking pictures the moment we get visuals. We're close to the base, I can already see the sea from here. Goshawk 2, stick close to Recon 1."

"Copy that, lead, came Goshawk 2's reply. Hey, you guys see that?"

"See what, 2?"

"Looks like smoke, bearing three-four-nine. Correction, it's definitely smoke, and a hell of a lot of it. Christ, looks like something big's on fire down there. Recon, you getting this?"

"Oh, I'm getting it all right," Recon 1 reported. "Lead, can we swing a bit closer to it? Looks like it's about the base's location. The Major's going to want details on this."

"Yeah, I suppose he would," Lead murmured. Like many on the base, his opinion of Moore was not the highest. But Lead had his orders, and that was to bring back whatever information he could about the situation in Algiers. "Okay, Goshawk flight, set heading for three-four-nine. Set altitude to five thou."

"Copy, Lead."

The Dopps and the flying wing of the Luggun swooped lower, banking toward the smoke. As they neared it, it was clear that something large had been burning. The Luggun's twin radar dishes had been angled toward the ground, and the belly-mounted cameras were busily snapping pictures of the destruction.

"Holeee ***t!" cried Goshawk 2. What the hell swept through here? Below them was the remains of a Zeon armored unit, Magella tanks left burning in the hills surrounding Algiers. Zakus, their limbs torn away, their torsos holed through and burned out lay twisted on the ground. Not too far away, the remains of the Battalion HQ outside of the city could be seen, the last of the fires sweeping through it slowly burning themselves out. It was a scene of devastation none of the men had seen since the initial invasion.

"Recon 1, please tell me you're getting all of this," Goshawk lead whispered. So captivated by the wreckage of what had been the 3rd Battalion's A and B Companies was he that he almost did not hear Goshawk 2's frantic warning.

"Lead, we've got company!"

Goshawk lead searched the skies outside of his dome canopy, looking for the enemy fighters. "There, a squad at two o'clock high. Saberfish. Repeat, we have Saberfish in the air. Recon 1, get the hell out of here. Goshawk 2, we've got to delay these bastards long enough for Recon 1 to get away. Prepare to engage the Saberfish."

Pulling back on the stick, Goshawk lead ramped his throttle up to full, peeling away from the now-retreating Recon 1. Goshawk 2 formed up on his wing, and together the Zeon fighters charged the formation of Saberfish coming at them.

The Federal pilots had actually expected the Dopps to make a run for it, and so were taken by surprise on Goshawk flight's first pass. 20mm shells tore through the fuselage of one of the Federal fighters, exploding it in mid-air. Rounds from Goshawk 2's cannon shredded the portside wing of another, sending it spiraling toward the ground in a trail of thick black smoke.

The Saberfish quickly caught on that the Zeons were not trying to run, and within a few seconds, the battle was joined. Cannon fire crisscrossed the sky as fighters twisted and looped, trying to latch onto the tails of their enemies. While outnumbered, the Zeon fighters did have one advantage: their aircraft were painted to match the terrain, while the Saberfish were a bright blue and white. Goshawk flight pressed this advantage by swooping low about the ground, trying to shake off their Federal pursuers.

Unfortunately, for Goshawk 2, it didn't seem to be working. "Lead, I've got two of these bastards on me! Get them off!" came his frantic plea. Lead pulled a quick Immleman and ditched the fighter that had been trying to gun him down. Locking on to one of the Saberfish, he fired off a volley from his rocket pods.

One of the Saberfish took the hit square in the engines and exploded, showering debris over the hills far below. The other managed to evade, and fired off one of its own missile in response. Goshawk 2 died as the missile blew the raised cockpit clear off the fuselage of the Dopp. The fighter tumbled out of the sky, orange flames licking at the sky on its way down.

Goshawk lead had his revenge a minute later, raking the Saberfish's wings with machine gun fire. The port wing collapsed and sent the fighter into a spin toward the ground. Satisfied, Lead began to pull up, until his fighter shook under the impact of gunfire.

"That bastard," he muttered through clenched teeth. One of the rounds had struck the cockpit, driving shrapnel into his abdomen. He reefed the fighter around, hissing in pain as the G-forces tore at the wound. With his last thought, hoping that the Luggun had been given enough time, he jammed the throttle open wide and aimed for the Saberfish. Blue and white was the last thing he saw.

Holliday scanned the horizon with his Zaku's optics system, looking, searching for anything out of the ordinary. Be it the recon flight or a cadre of Federal fighters, his normally suppressed paranoia had come and reared its ugly head. Glancing at one of his side monitors, he saw that the anti-aircraft gunnery crews were likewise scanning the sky.

"Team, this is lead. Report in," he ordered over the headset microphone.

"Two here, I've got nothing," Pappas reported in. He was more subdued than usual. The new tension had gotten to everyone on the base.

"This is Three, I can't see anything. Where are those damn air force slugs, anyway?" Cusik said dryly. Holliday suppressed a smile as the rest of the mobile suits, scattered around the base, reported in. They, too, had nothing to report.

 _This,_ he thought, _is one of the worst ways to pass time._ Trying to act as though you're ready for something, but all you can really do is let that impending sense of doom hang over you until the other shoe finally drops.

"Captain Holliday, this is Porter at zero-three-five," one of the other pilots reported in a few minutes later. "I've got a sighting coming in from the north. It looks like Recon 1, but its escorts are nowhere to be seen."

"I copy that, Porter. Pappas?"

"Sir?"

"Take charge here. I'm heading over to the landing field to see what Recon 1 has to tell us."

"Yes, sir."

Holliday's Zaku turned and strode off along the edge of the base, footfalls echoing off the rocks as it made its way toward the airfield. Upon reaching the field, Holliday locked the Zaku down in a kneeling position, opened the hatch, and climbed out.

He found Lieutenant King and Major Moore already waiting for the Luggun's arrival. "Where are the escorts?" Moore was demanding. "This was supposed to be a routine reconnaissance flight. If those two air force hotshots are off gallivanting across the desert, I'll have their heads!"

Holliday and King exchanged looks, but said nothing. If Recon 1 was coming back alone, the chances that there had been Federal Forces waiting at Algiers were next to definite. They watched in silence as the flying wing swooped low and touched down on the runway. The flight crew had seen the officers waiting for them, and as the engines whined to shutdown, they steered the plane closer to the edge of the runway. When it had come to a complete halt, the ground crews rushed out onto the tarmac to secure the fighter and to allow the flight crew to exit.

They made their way up to the officers, removed their helmets and saluted the men.

"Well, where are those idiots I sent to escort you?" Moore demanded.

"Sir, we got jumped by Saberfish," the Luggun's pilot answered wearily. "Goshawk flight stayed behind to draw them off us. We we don't think they made it back, sir."

Moore was too stunned for words, so Holliday jumped in, "And Battalion? What did you see?"

"Battalion was gone," the sensor operator told him. "It looked like they tried to escape south, but we found the remains of what must have been a full armored company, all shot to hell. The base itself was gutted, burning itself out. There was nothing left, Captain."

"Damn. Any reading on enemy forces?"

"Other than the Saberfish that jumped us, didn't see any. We got film of what was left of the base."

Holliday frowned. "Get the photos ready for the Major, we'll examine them in the command tent. Good work."

"Thank you, Sir." The flight crew returned Holliday's salute and dashed off to carry out their orders. The Captain then turned to Moore, who was looking pale and drawn. "Major, we need to examine our options in the command tent. Major?"

"Yes, you're right," Moore agreed unhappily. "Summon the rest of the senior staff. We need to plan quickly."

Fifteen minutes later, the entire senior staff- with the notable exception of the engineering corps had gathered in the command tent. A large map of the region had been spread out on the center table, notations hastily scribbled across it in a grease pencil.

Major Moore stood over it, looking somewhat upset, but at the same time the fierce, disdainful look he'd had upon first arriving at Ghardaia had returned to his eyes. At the moment, he was intently studying the photographs the Luggun had brought back. It showed a dire situation, the Algiers base completely leveled, Battalion forces left to burn in the foothills outside the city. _No, this was not good,_ Moore thought as he tapped his baton gently against his leg. It showed weakness, but at the same time, opportunity.

"Gentlemen," he began. "We have a situation. Sometime within the last twenty-four hours, the 3rd Battalion Headquarters at Algiers was attacked by Federal Forces and annihilated." There was little reaction to this; scuttlebutt had already spread the news about the camp. "We are, at the moment, uncertain of their strength, but this act cannot go unanswered. We must retaliate swiftly and effectively. We must take back from the Federation what is rightfully ours and show them that they can never have Africa!"

"Major, let me get this straight," Holliday interrupted. He was a little sick of the constant pontificating that was the basis for Moore's briefings. "You intend to launch an assault through four hundred and fifty klicks of desert and mountains against a force whose numbers and composition we have no idea of?"

"You have a problem with this, Captain?" More asked, a menacing edge in his voice.

"Yes sir, I do. It's suicide. We should be spending our time preparing for the Federal advance they are going to attack this base sooner or later, Major. We need to be ready for them when they come. We can set up a more effective defense and cause more damage to the Federation here. Not by launching a blind attack through the mountains, where the Federals can set up nice little ambushes for us."

"Your point is noted, Captain. However this attack will go forward. Pride demands-"

"Pride is going to get us killed!" Holliday shouted, startling many in the tent. "Major, I am lodging a formal report about my misgivings on this course of action. I will not be responsible for leading my men into a deathtrap over a matter of pride! We need to dig in for the Federal advance and we need to contact Divisional Headquarters on this. With Battalion destroyed, General Bitter is-"

"General Bitter is on the other side of this damn miserable continent!" Moore roared. "I am company commander here, you will follow my orders and no one else's! Do you understand that, Captain?"

"Major, I will also be filing a report in regards to your blatant disregard for the Divisions command hierarchy."

"That's it. Sergeant Nelson!"

"Sir?" One of the NCOs who had followed Moore from Odessa stepped forward, with several of the others flanking him.

"I am placing Captain Holliday under arrest for insubordination and cowardice in the face of the enemy. You will relieve him of his sidearm and confine him to quarters. He is to be under guard at all times, and under no circumstances is he allowed visitors."

"Yes sir."

At this, there was an angry murmur from the rest of the gathered officers and NCOs. These were men who had served with Holliday since the drop operation; they weren't about to see him tried in a kangaroo court of Moore's design. Lieutenant King stepped forward, his hand resting on the butt of his pistol. "Say the word, Sam. Say it, and we won't let these bastards take you."

"We're behind you, Captain," Cusik chimed in. "We're not going to back down."

"David, Robert, stand down," Holliday told them as he surrendered his pistol to Sergeant Nelson. "I'll not have you dragged down on mutiny charges. Follow your orders, and don't you dare try something stupid."

"Yes, sir," Cusik conceded, looking defeated. Moore threw Holliday a smug look, then ordered, "Take him away."

Much to his own surprise, Holliday was not angry. Sitting in his tent, he reflected that he was surprised this had not come before. After all, he'd been goading Moore into doing something stupid for quite some time now. He was just afraid of two things. Of his men, men more loyal to him than they ever would be to Moore, dying needlessly under the command of an imbecile. That, and of them being slapped with mutiny charges if they tried to free Holliday from incarceration. Not that it would be too hard, but Holliday did not want his men facing those charges if it ever leaked out past the camp.

Of course, now all Holliday had to do was figure a way out of this for himself. Moore, more than likely, would stop at nothing to see him in front of a firing squad. Holliday did not relish the prospect of being shot.

To his surprise, the flap of his tent was flung open. Holliday wondered who had gotten past Moore's no visitors command, until he saw that it was Moore himself. "So, come to gloat?" Holliday spat.

"Put it that way, yes. I've been looking forward to this for a long time, you little insubordinate bastard. You've been a thorn in my side since the day I took command of this miserable company. That, and I'm well aware of your involvement with Miss Kamaras. Personally, I'd see you staked out in the desert for that."

"She's not your Goddamned property," Holliday snarled. "She's allowed to associate with whomever she wants."

"Ah, but she is my property, you see. I saved her life, and until she repays me for the kindness I've shown her, she is mine to do with as I please. And I do not appreciate other men becoming intimately involved with what is rightfully mine."

"You're sick. You're also an idiot," Holliday hissed. "I should have let that tank shoot you in the back at Tataouine."

"And I'm eternally grateful for you saving my life," Moore told him with an ironic little smile. "Which is why I'm having you shot instead of something more painful. The trial will take place tomorrow, though it shan't last long. Sentence will be carried out immediately after, and then I can get on with my attack on the Federation."

"I hope your glory means something to you when you're dead. It sure as hell won't matter to anyone else."

Moore threw him a frown, then turned and walked out, leaving Holliday alone with his thoughts once more.

Hours later, and Holliday was drifting in and out of sleep as he lay on his bunk. He figured that if this was to be his last night in this world, he might as well try and get some rest. Besides, despite Moore's threats, who knew what the morning would bring.

It was in one of the periods of fitful sleep that it started. A low, rolling siren that swept across the base and jolted Holliday awake.

 _Air raid!_

 **Chapter 5 Notes:**

Dopp: I love these ugly, bizarre little fighters. The Dopps of Goshawk flight are stationed at Ghardaia base specifically as escorts for the Luggun. These boys have lots of experience at low-level NOE flying. Their fighters are also painted in desert camouflage.

Federation Invasion of Africa: While not as massive as the Odessa Operation or possibly even North America, I do think the Feds would have thrown a somewhat sizeable force at Africa. I envision this as a 3-or-4 pronged assault, with landings at Dakar (though that's going to be tied up for a while), Algiers, Libiya (to drive a wedge between Western and Eastern forces), and possibly at Casablanca.


	6. Chapter 6

**Mobile Suit Gundam: The Road to Alexandria**

 **Chapter 6**

"Lead, this is Three. Got a visual on that Zeek base."

"I copy, Three," replied Breaker leader, shifting in his seat to get a better look at the facility laid out before him. "Okay, Breaker flight. Concentrate mostly on the hardened buildings, let the bombers take care of those oil fields. Keep a watch for ground fire, looks like we got some AA guns, maybe 88's, and a few missile batteries."

"What about enemy mobile suits?" came the worried voice of Breaker Four.

"I don't see any yet," Three replied. He had the sharpest eyes in the squadron, and thus usually found himself designated the squadron spotter.

Keep alert. These are the same bastards who hit Tataouine a month ago, Lead warned everybody. So they've definitely got MS down there somewhere. Don't worry about destroying everything, just hit 'em hard and fast and peel out. I'd rather we get out alive. Remember, we're just here to soften them up.

The five Fly Manta fighter-bombers peeled away from the main force of Deproggs and their escorts, diving toward the Zeon base. Almost immediately, anti-aircraft fire filled the air as crews rushed to the 88mm guns scattered around the base's perimeter.

The pilots had little problem evading the fire after all, they were experienced Odessa veterans and had survived the horrific amount of flak thrown up at them then. The Zeon gun crews had never fired them in combat before. Their 88's had been set up after the Federation had been driven out of North Africa and the base had been established. They had test fired them, shot down a few drones for practice, but had never had to fire them at fast-moving aircraft that were firing back.

The Fly Mantas concentrated their fire on the defenses first. They opened fire on the guns with their cannon, shredding the emplacements. Men screamed as the heavy rounds tore through them and touched off ammunition. Explosion dotted the camp, incinerating the gun crews.

Holliday burst out of his tent, looking up as a Fly Manta tore past, strafing the motor pool. He flinched, and snarled in anger as it sent dust washing over him and climbed back into the sky.

"Hey, you're confined to-" one of the two soldiers, one of Moore's personal guard, standing guard out side the tent began to say. Holliday spun around and unloaded a thundering right fist into the man's jaw. He grabbed the man's rifle with his left hand, and turned to the second guard, whom Holliday knew was not one of Moore's private cadre. "Corporal, I am breaking my confinement in the face of this emergency," he told the nervous soldier. "If this man," he motioned to the guard sprawled on the ground who was nursing his injured jaw, "so much as tries to stop me, you are under orders to shoot him. Understood?"

"Y-yes s-sir!" the soldier managed to get out. He threw a look at the other guard and bit his lip. "W-where are you going, Captain?"

"To try and stop those idiots!" Holliday shouted as he ran toward the mobile suit hangar.

Holliday ran. He ran harder than he'd ever run in his life, ignoring the wail of the air raid siren around him, ignoring the explosions that tore through the base as the Fly Mantas switched over to their triple missile launchers. _Where the hell are the Zakus?_ he wondered. They had been out on alert just hours before, they would have spotted these Federal bastards and shot them down quickly.

An explosion nearby blew him off his feet. Holliday was hurtled through the air and came down hard a few feet away from the MS bunker. Ears ringing, he staggered to his feet and looked up. The bunker had taken some minor damage, but it was sturdy and built to withstand conventional attacks of this nature. One of the base's few remaining AA guns was atop it, spitting tracers into the evening sky.

Clutching his head, Holliday stumbled into the bunker, where a few of the Zakus were being prepared for combat. All of the others were lined up in their maintenance bays, waiting for pilots.

"What the hell is going on here? Holliday demanded angrily Why the f*** aren't there any units on combat alert?"

"Captain!" Cusik yelled, startled by Holliday's sudden appearance. "Major Moore recalled us for outfitting for that dumb Goddamn Algiers plan, sir! Are you all right?"

"Just a little shaken, though Moore's probably going to hang me for breaking confinement." He looked around at the pilots and ground crew, who stood there staring at him. "What the hell are you waiting for? Get those Zakus moving before the Federal f***ing Air Force blows up the bunker! Move, people, move!"

The soldiers scattered, dashing toward their respective mobile suits. Holliday, dashing toward his Zaku, yelled up to Mercer, who was the first to start moving out, "Where's the Major?"

"Damned if I know, sir," Mercer's voice boomed over the Zaku's external speakers. His Zaku continued advancing, footsteps echoing through the hangar. Holliday continued moving toward his own Zaku, when the sound of gunfire erupted from the mouth of the hangar.

Turning, he saw Mercer pouring fire toward the Fly Mantas with his M120A machine gun. The Federal planes responded by firing a volley of missile at him. Unable to maneuver quickly in the confines of the hangar's doorway, Mercer took the hits square in the Zaku's torso. The explosions washed over him, knocking mechanics and pilots from their feet those who didn't dive for cover. Thick, black smoke was pouring out of the Zaku as it dropped to one knee and sat there, immobile.

Holliday swore loudly as he made it to his Zaku. Thankfully, someone in the ground crew was uncannily foresighted; the Zaku was warmed up and ready to go. Grateful for that, but still angry at Mercer's apparent death, Holliday swung into the cockpit and strapped himself in. The hatch was still closing as he got the Zaku under way.

At the hangar entrance, he laid his Zaku's left hand on the shattered hulk of Mercer's mobile suit. "Mercer, Mercer? You still alive?" he asked over the skin-to-skin com. No response. "Damn. Sorry Mercer, but you're the best way to get outside alive." Holliday lifted Mercer's Zaku up with his own unit's left arm, and began to shove it out the door ahead of him. The shriek of metal on metal sounded as the two MS slowly inched to the outside.

"Hey, we've got another Zaku coming out of the bunker," Breaker Two reported in. "Hey, it's that same one we already nailed, tough little SOB. I'm gonna strafe him and make certain that pilot's learned his lesson."

Breaker Two's craft swept back around over the airfield he'd just shot up, making for the hardened Zaku bunker again. He opened up on it with the machine guns, shells raking the chest area. But it continued moving forward.

"What in the-" Breaker Two muttered, trailing off as the Zaku slumped to the ground, revealing a second, undamaged mobile suit behind it. Panic set in, and he yanked back on his stick. The Fly Manta began to climb, but the twin Vulcan cannons mounted on the Desert Zaku opened up, the 60mm shells ripping through the plane.

The Fly Manta disintegrated around the pilot, scattering parts across the dusty ground. Then the fuel ignited, turning what was left of the aircraft into a brief conflagration.

The Zaku squads spread out and quickly laid down a suppression fire that all but ended the Federal air raid on the base itself. Most of the Fly Mantas fell victim to the machine gun fire the Zakus delivered; one was taken down by one of the few IR missile batteries than had been set up around the base's perimeter.

The real work was cleaning up the Deprogg bombers that had gone for the oil fields. Defenses were scattered even further out there, so very few of the bombers had been shot down. And before they'd escaped they had caused incredible damage to the fields. Wells burned out of control, towers of flame hundreds of feet high. Under the direction of what was left of the engineering corps, the Zaku teams worked through the night to cap what fires they could; in many cases it was impossible. The bombs had torn deep into the ground, destroying the drilling and pumping equipment itself. Some were smothered with tons of sand and rock dumped on top of them. Others burned underground, sucking air from who knew where to feed themselves. The rest were completely uncontrollable, and so they were left to burn themselves out, sometime in the future.

Morning found a cloud of thick, oily black smoke hanging over the base as the Zakus returned, battered and blackened from their long night's work. They made their way solemnly to the hangar, maneuvering through the wreckage from the air raid. Around their feet, soldiers dashed this way and that, already cleaning up the destruction.

Holliday climbed out of his Zaku to find Lieutenant King waiting for him. "How bad is it out in the fields?" the weary-looking officer asked him.

"Total loss, David," Holliday replied, running a hand through his hair. He leaned up against the catwalk railing. "Whatever rigs and pumps they didn't bomb are useless they nailed the main pipeline in several places. Not that we have anywhere to ship it, anyway. The engineering corps was devastated, they took out the monitoring center and everyone in it. Hill's been killed."

"Damn. I've already dispatched teams to collect the bodies, the medical staff is working overtime on the wounded. I've seen at least two dozen, if not more, dead and God knows how many wounded." King sighed and removed his cap. Staring down into it, he continued, "I lost four tanks, a few others took some minor damage. Bastards got most of the crash-bangs and all but one of the IR missile batteries. Your Zakus are the only air defense we have left."

"Yeah, and a bloody good job they did as well. I can't believe they were all being outfitted for a mission, and not one, not bloody damn one of them was on patrol. There's a damned reason I set up that system," Holliday fumed. "What about other damage to the base?"

Scratching his head, King thought for a moment. "The radio tent survived, miraculously. Same with the hangar bunkers. Airfield and the tower are both shot to hell, completely unusable. The motor pool took some damage, but most of the vehicles are intact. Same with the barracks. Command tent took a bomb in it, though."

"Anyone seen that imbecile Moore? Or did he go up with the command tent?"

"I don't think he did, though most of his personal staff were killed."

"What about Maria?" Though Holliday had left this until last, King could tell it was his comrade's most pressing concern.

"Relax, Sam. She's fine. I last saw her helping out with the triage."

"Thank God. I'm going to go find her. If you see the Major, report to me immediately. Come up with some excuse for keeping him in one place. He and I have to have a discussion."

Holliday found Maria right where King had said she was, helping the medics triage what wounded were left. Her hair was disheveled, there were circles under her eyes, and there was blood on her blouse thankfully, Holliday noted, hot hers but she seemed otherwise unharmed. Upon seeing him, she rose and dashed toward him, throwing her arms around him.

Holliday kissed her gently and said, "Thank God you're okay."

"I could say the same about you. One way or another, I was almost certain you would be dead this morning, she told him sadly. How did you-"

"I disarmed one of the guards and threatened him if he didn't let me go. I wasn't about to sit in my tent and let the Federation blow the camp up around me. Of course, Moore is going to blow his top over this. Not that I care any more. If I hadn't promised you not to kill him, I would shoot him on site for leaving the base defenseless. Where is he, anyway?"

"Franklin vanished when the attack started. I thought he was going to organize the defenses."

"Well, he didn't. His little desire for revenge left us almost defenseless. The damage was worse than it should have been. I'm going to get him relieved of command." Holliday paused. "He knows about us, Maria. He knows everything."

"I don't care," she told him, laying her head against his chest. "He can't stop it; he can't hurt me any more. I'll not be his harlot any more."

Smiling, Holliday told her, "I knew you were strong, Maria. If I find him, I'll break the news to him. Personally, I hope it breaks him. I must go. I've got a thousand things to do, I have to contact Division and see what they want us to do. I imagine we'll be ordered to abandon the position, so you might want to begin packing. He kissed her again and walked off, leaving her watching after him, longingly."

Stalking across the compound, Holliday made right for the communications tent, which had miraculously survived the raid. If his hunch was correct, the ground assault would follow shortly, and Holliday had no intention of being around when it arrived, not in the state the base was in now. He intended to make that perfectly clear to his superiors at Divisional Command at Kilimanjaro.

Upon entering the tent, he encountered Major Franklin Moore, castigating one of the radio operators for some failure or another. Noticing Holliday's arrival, the Major turned to face him. His usually immaculate uniform was ripped and dirty, his face was red with rage.

"What are you doing here? You're under confinement for-" That was as far as he got, for without warning, Holliday hauled back and unloaded the same thundering right he'd dropped the guard with earlier to Moore's jaw. The Major spun once and fell to the ground, cracking his head on the wooden table the radio operator sat at.

"Cowardice in the face of the enemy?" Holliday declared, his face livid. "That's the pot calling the bloody kettle black, isn't it Major? Where the hell were you when the rest of us were fighting off the Federation attack? And because of your stupid, pointless quest for personal glory, good men are dead! You have constantly undermined the purpose of this base to advance your own goals by putting good men real soldiers at risk. If you hadn't withdrawn the patrols I set up we might have had advance warning of this raid and those dead men out there might still be alive!"

Holliday stepped forward, a menacing look on his face. Moore shielded his face from any further abuse, but Holliday instead gripped the Major's rank mantle and hauled him to his feet. "Sergeant!" Holliday shouted to the senior-most of the shocked radio operators. "You are witness. I am declaring Major Moore unfit for command and relieving him of his position."

"T-this is mutiny!" Moore protested.

"Well, I would know something about that, wouldn't I?" Holliday released his grip and let Moore fall back to the ground. Turning back toward the operators, the Captain snapped, "Get me Division on the horn, ASAP. We need to get real orders on how to handle this mess." When they stood there, starting at him blankly, Holliday barked, "What are you waiting for! Do it!"

Moore propped himself up, rubbing his jaw with one hand. His eyes glazed over murderously. He was Franklin Moore! There was no way he would let this two-time traitor usurp his power and position. His right hand strayed toward the butt of the pistol he wore at his belt, only to have Holliday's booted foot slam down on top of it.

As Moore howled in pain, Holliday bent down and hissed at him, "Do you really think I would be that stupid, Major? You're nothing. A hollow shell of a man. You don't even have a mistress any more to profess false endearments for you." At this, Moore looked up, venom flashing through his eyes. "That's right," Holliday whispered. "You can't touch her any more. I told you she wasn't your property, and she's free now. You try anything with Maria, I will make certain you are never again able to do so. I'll spare you the humiliation of confinement but don't take that as an indication of your freedom."

Holliday removed the weapon from Moore's holster and stuck it in his belt. That done, he turned back toward the radio operators.

The remaining senior officers and MS crew met in the Zaku bunker the only place suitable for holding a meeting of this nature now that the command tent had been destroyed. Someone had found a rough substitute for a bulletin board and had propped it up against the back wall of the bunker. Holliday had affixed a rather large map of Northern Africa to it, with lines and markings made on it in red ink.

Moore was present for the meeting; Cusik sat near him with an even more sour than usual expression on his face, absently stroking the barrel of the submachine gun he had casually trained on the Major. Moore's expression was verging on outraged, but the presence of the gun kept him from showing his anger.

Everyone present looked drawn and tired. None had gotten any rest after the attack the night before cleaning up the damage had taken precedence. Chief among these was Holliday, standing next to the map with a pointer.

"I'll be brief," he said. "I talked with General Bitter, our Divisional commander. He told me that all of Northwestern Africa has been hit by the Federation. Dakar fell first, we haven't heard any news from the Pink Panther unit, or Rommel's units to the west. Some evacuation has been started at Kilimanjaro and at Aden in the Middle East, though the General himself wants to hold out as long as possible."

"Now, we're unable to make it to either of those locations; the Feds have swept southward of us from Dakar. At least, that's what the General's intelligence has to report. At any rate, it's several thousand kilometers of rather impassable desert between us and those locations. The General, however, has provided us with an alternate point to fall back to: Alexandria."

Holliday paused to let the news sink in. He glanced around, most of the men seemed to accept this outright; only Moore, naturally, seemed not to like it. Holliday continued. "We'll stay inland for the first part of the journey it's mostly terrain like it is here; desert and scrub, higher plateaus and the like. Then, once we've passed Tataouine and have entered Libya, we'll follow along fairly close to the coastline. That's the best route to the Marsa Al Burayqah gap. We have to go through there, otherwise it's going to be trudging through salt marshes. The real downside to this is we're going to be hemmed in by salt flats further south once we're past it. That means we're going to be coming close to Tobruk."

There was an uneasy murmur through the group. Many of the men started to look uneasy.

"Look, I know that's the largest Federation base in that part of Africa, and that they've probably reinforced it by now. But that's the only way we can go without getting hit by the full effects of a winter in the desert. I'm certain we've all heard nasty things about it but it's either that or go near the Federation. At least against them, we have a fighting chance."

A noise of general agreement came from the men.

Holliday put the pointer down. "I know we're all tired, but we've got to evacuate as quickly as we can. Take what we need, leave the heavier equipment behind. That includes Mercer's Zaku. Chief Biggs?"

"Sir?" a stocky man in grease-stained mechanics overalls spoke up.

"Salvage what you can from it. Load up the Samsons with whatever ammunition the mobile suits can't carry. The most important things beyond the men are water, food, fuel, and ammunition. Pack as much as you can into the trucks and jeeps men who aren't wounded can ride on the outside. It will be brutal, but it's the best we can do."

 **Chapter 6 Notes:**

Crash-Bangs: nickname for 88mm field howitzers, also used for AA purposes. 88mm was, IIRC, the standard caliber for German flak batteries in WWII. The 88's also made hash of British tanks in the first phases of the African campaign.

Kilimanjaro: the Mountain in East Africa. This is used as a base by the Titans in Zeta, it's also very close to General Bitter's Kimberlaide base from 0083. The Gundam RPG Sourcebook has actually identified it as an evacuation point for terrestrial forces, so it's proximity to Kimberlaide suggests that Bitter fell back after the bulk of the evacuations to continue his campaign against the Federation. Very special thanks to Mark Simmons for giving me some of the particulars on this, and the Aden, Yemen evacuation location.

Rommel: No, not the German Afrika Korps commander, but Desert Rommel Zeon officer who is still fighting a guerrilla war in West Africa in ZZ. He shows up in Gihren's Greed, too. I'm assuming his forces were based in and around Dakar.

The Marsa Al Burayqah gap: a real place on the Gulf of Sidra in Libya. The Germans had to smash through here on their way to Tobruk in the early stages of the African campaign.

Trioknight's reading list: Speaking of Rommel, try Rommel's War in Africa by Wolf Heckmann. A very good recounting of the Africa campaign from both sides of the war, but focusing primarily on Rommel. A little judgmental of the man at times, but overall a very good book.


End file.
